Nobody's Girl
by Archica
Summary: Alternate Universe fic where all Muggles are dead and Mudbloods are slaves. What happens when Hermione becomes the slave of Draco Malfoy?
1. Chapter One

Author's Notes: This is an Alternate Universe (AU) fic. If you don't know what that means, here's a brief explanation: AU fics simply take the characters and place them in a completely different world/setting from the original works. Either that, or they make a very drastic change to the original universe that the story takes place in. Example: A story about how everything would be if Harry had ended up in Slytherin. Either way, the universe of the fanfic is alternate, hence the name "Alternate Universe". ^_^ 

This will be a DracoxHermione fic. If you detest that pairing, then you probably won't like this story. But if you at least tolerate it, I'd like to ask you to give this story a chance. Who knows, you may start to like the pairing. ^_^ This idea has probably been done a million times. It's not all that original. If anyone knows of a story like this, PLEASE inform me so that I won't waste my time writing it again. ^^;; 

There may be some racy moments and times when things get a little "objectionable", but I will try to control myself. I'll probably end up writing two versions: one more generally appropriate for forums and ff.net, and one for a more adult audience. If you have any comments/questions/suggestions/complaints, please do not hesitate to contact me. 

Chapter One: 

Draco Malfoy was a privileged young man. In a world where only the most cunning rise to the top, he was lucky to have been born into one of the most cunning families in history. The Malfoys were rich, powerful, and most important of all, Pureblood. 

The Muggle population had been completely wiped out, deemed useless by those of the Magical World. Those unfortunate wizards and witches who had been born of Muggles (and therefore tainted) were used as slaves, servants, and other such low-class positions. Their powers were useful, but they couldn't be trusted, or allowed to reproduce. The Muggle-borns were predicted to die out within a hundred years, at most. 

Draco stood in front of a full-length mirror in his lavish bedroom. It was his eighteenth birthday, the day he became an adult. He smoothed the folds of his black cloak and pushed the white-gold hair away from his face. He pulled on a pair of black gloves before he headed down to the living room of his family mansion. 

It was quite an exciting day for his parents, for today they were to purchase Draco's first slave, the best birthday present they could think of for him. The idea had appalled him. He did not need a Mudblood to tag along after him, making his bed and dusting his room. The family servants were for that. The only possible use he could think of for a Mudblood slave was for practicing curses and spells. But his father had insisted, assuring him that supporting the slave system would keep the Mudbloods in their place. 

So Draco left that morning with his father, quite begrudgingly. They walked down a street lined with small glass cells that looked more like cages than anything else. The creatures inside them were skinny, dirty, and clothed only in brown rags. Draco stopped a couple of times to peek in and narrow his eyes at them, but his father continued without pause. "These are the cheap ones," he said to Draco without turning around, "the most disgusting of them all. We will find you a proper slave." 

Draco frowned slightly but followed along without complaint. Soon they reached a place where the cells were larger, with silver trim and the creatures inside were not dirty, but still thin and poorly dressed. Draco's father spoke a bit with a merchant, then nodded for Draco to begin searching for the one he would choose. 

He paced up and down the street, eying the cells with utter contempt. To think that he would need one of these _things_ to aid him. Useless, hideous, creatures. He paused beside a few that seemed relatively interesting, some were very young, some were fairly old. There were equal amounts of males and females, none more enticing than the others. 

Suddenly something caught his eye in one of the cells. A mess of bushy, spiraling brown hair spread out to take most of the space in the cell. Draco strode over, curious to see what hideous face the hair must be hiding. He tapped on the glass, to rouse the Mudblood. 

Nothing happened. It made no response. He tapped again. Still nothing. Draco was becoming impatient. He tapped again, harder this time. Receiving no further progress, he walked away. He was not going to waste his time on a deaf and/or retarded Mudblood. 

The merchant undoubtedly realized that Draco had little interest in the whole affair, and that the Mudblood he had just looked at had come the closest to piquing any interest he had. He could get far more out of her than another that the customer had just settled for. 

The merchant jogged around to the cell filled with brown hair and shook it violently. "Wake up, you bloody wench!" he yelled. 

Draco turned around coolly, watching the scene with only mild interest. Finally the Mudblood rolled over in her cell to face the merchant. Suddenly Draco's interest was no longer mild. The girl in the cell was quite pretty. Not exactly gorgeous, but her face was fairer than many a Pureblood he had been introduced to. He was surprised. Most of the Mudbloods he had seen were ugly or just very plain. Perhaps it was because they were not given decent clothes or adequate grooming utensils. 

The merchant began working at the latches of the cell. "Want to take a look at her?" he asked. 

Draco nodded wordlessly, disguising his intrigue as curiosity. The merchant opened up the cell and grabbed the girl's arm. He jerked her out and she landed in a heap on the pavement. "Stand up, you useless strumpet!" 

The girl made no response. "Is she deaf?" Draco asked. 

The merchant growled. "No, just bloody stubborn!" he answered, pulling her to her feet by her hair. 

Lucius came up behind them. "A Mudblood that doesn't know its place. How revolting. Let's move on, Draco." 

Draco started to walk on, but then stopped himself. Suddenly the idea of a challenge, of breaking a slave in, became appealing. "You say she's stubborn?" he asked, stepping closer to her. 

The merchant caught this immediately. "As stubborn as they come! She used to be a fighter, always clawing and hitting someone. Used to scream all day on how this was 'inhumane' or whatever. She finally calmed down about two years ago. Now she just won't do anything without being forced." 

Draco was now circling her, eyeing her up and down. She only looked at the ground, as if the whole situation were of no interest whatsoever to her. He put a hand down suddenly and roughly onto her shoulder, to see if she would waver, but she stood firmly. "She seems durable," he said, ignoring his father's disapproving face. "How old is she?" 

"Eighteen, more or less. We don't keep up with their exact birth dates." 

"And has she ever been owned before?" 

"Are you kidding? Up till the past two years she was too much of a hassle for anyone to deal with, and now days no one's interested in a stubborn slave." The merchant grinned when he noticed Draco's eyes shown a bit. 

Draco paused directly in front of her and pushed her hair back away from her face. He gripped her chin and tilted her face up. He moved it to the left, then to the right. "Not too hard to look at." He muttered. "I'll take her!" 

Lucius looked as if he were ready to faint. "Draco, this Mudblood will only cause trouble! We won't get back half what we paid for her if we resell!" 

"Who says I want to resell? I think she'll be amusing." Draco said with a strange sort of smile. "Prepare her," he said to the merchant. 

The merchant pulled a brown leather collar from his cloak and fastened it around the girl's neck. "This collar is charmed. It puts her in a weak, tired state. I suggest you only use it until you get her home, unless you want a slave that can do nothing but lay around in a daze." 

Draco nodded and waited for his father to pay. After that was done, the three of them began their trip back home. The girl followed them like a puppet. Even without the collar, she would've done the same. Though she didn't allow it to show, she was quite shocked that anyone would want her. She had lost count of the times she had been tossed back into the cell after a possible customer had turned away. Not that she particularly wanted to be owned, but somewhere in the back of her mind she always thought that she had a better chance of escaping from an unsuspecting household than from merchants trained in keeping Mudbloods imprisoned. 

So the Mudblood now owned by Draco Malfoy remained silent, biding her time and waiting for an opportunity. She would escape from him, and she would flee to an underground free zone. All she had to do was put up with this rich brat for a few days. She was certain that it wouldn't be so hard. She'd probably have to fluff his pillows and shine his shoes. This would be easy, or so she thought. 


	2. Chapter Two

Hermione Granger sat in a very small room in the bottom layer of the Malfoy mansion. The collar had been removed, but she was now bound with metal shackles. Her wrists were red and swollen. She kept wondering if they'd forgotten about her. It felt like days since her owner, Draco, had led her down there and left her. 

Finally the doors creaked open and she looked up. Draco walked in followed by two female servants. Probably half-bloods, since they were apparently not slaves. He motioned for them to go to her, and each one took an arm. "Make sure you get her good and clean," he told them, "scrub her till her skin starts to peel off, and then scrub her a little bit more. I don't want any Mudblood germs around me." 

As the two women pulled her up and led her down the hall, Draco headed upstairs. They took her to another small room, where there was a tile platform that took up nearly half the room. She had to take one step down to get onto it. 

The two women pulled off her brown rags and began cleaning her with large, rough sponges on the ends of sticks. They also had on thick gloves and robes. They had probably been instructed not to make physical contact with her until she was completely clean. 

They worked in silence, their faces showing little or no emotion. It was just another job to them. When the borderline painful scrubbing was finished, they pulled out strange looking tubes and pulled a lever on the wall. Water began to gush out and its force stung her skin. Reflexively, she backed away and ended up in the corner with nowhere else to go. She squatted down in an attempt to shield herself, but it was only seconds after that the water shut off. 

She was handed two large towels and some folded articles of clothing before the two servants walked out and slammed the door behind them. She knew they were waiting for her just outside. She dried herself slowly, as she was in no hurry to return to that tiny, dirty little room down the hall, or to the shackles. 

She unfolded the clothes. There was a pair of plain white panties, a very old-fashioned strapless bra, and a brown cotton robe. She slipped into them, surprised that they were new and in excellent condition. In all her years, she had never worn new clothes before. All she had was what rags and hole-filled robes the merchants would give her. 

Her hair was tangled and already beginning to get fuzzy, but there was no comb, and she had seen plenty of days without one. Still yet, it would've been nice to have combed hair to go along the new clothes. She shrugged her shoulders and pecked on the door, the signal that she was dressed. 

The two women put the shackles back on her arms and led her back down the hall. She breathed a slight sigh of relief when they passed up the room she had previously been in. Instead, they took her into a room two doors down. There, they sat her in a wooden chair and began working the tangles out of her hair with a wooden object that she'd never seen before. It was round, with tiny wooden knobs sticking out all over. Whatever it was, it worked like magic, for her hair was now tangle-free, though still frizzy. 

The two women stared at her hair for a moment, as if they were trying to devise a way to make it lay flat. Soon they apparently gave up and pulled it back into a low-laying ponytail and tied it with a black string. Not a professional job, but they seemed satisfied. 

Finally one of them spoke. "You're ready now," said the shorter of the two, "let's get you to Mr. Malfoy." 

She followed them without protest up the stairs and down a more elaborate hall. They passed many doors and Hermione began to wonder why a family of three would need all these rooms. She envisioned Draco as a child, with each room filled to the brim with toys and gifts. He had to have been a spoiled brat. 

Eventually they stopped before a slightly more ornate door and rapped lightly on it. The door opened and Draco ushered them in. He was without his cloak, though still in heavy robes. He closed the door behind them and went over to sit in a very elegant looking armchair. He gave them a nod to signal that they could speak. 

"We prepared her, Mr. Malfoy," said the one that had spoken earlier. 

"Are you sure you used a disinfectant scrub?" he asked. 

They both nodded. Hermione frowned. She hadn't even been that dirty to begin with. They gave her a nudge and she stepped forward. Draco waved them out and stood up. He circled her as he had done in the street. "You look almost human now," he said with mock surprise. 

She had a very strong urge to say something back, but refrained. She knew what he was doing. He wanted to provoke her. She looked at the floor, forcing a look of indifference onto her face. 

He leaned close and sniffed loudly. "Even the stench is gone. Remind me to give those servants a raise, for they have truly worked a miracle." 

Hermione's heart began to pound. She wanted to grab him by his little rich-boy neck and choke the arrogance out of him. Still yet, she remained silent. She just kept reminding herself that it would only take a few days to learn how the place was laid out, and to formulate a plan to freedom. 

"I suppose you're curious as to what I'll expect of you," he began, going back to his chair, "It's really quite simple. You are my guinea pig. Every time I learn a new spell, or create a new curse, I will test it out on you. You will not refuse. You will not try to avoid them. It's your purpose here." 

Hermione was now looking at him. "And I will be given the counter-curses afterwards?" she asked, speaking for the first time to him. 

He ignored his own surprise. "Yes, eventually. After all, I can't put more curses on you if you've already been cursed. It would affect the final result, which is what I'll be interested in. But there's nothing to stop you from remaining cursed until I think up a new curse." He said the last sentence with a very wide grin. 

"And that's all that's expected of me?" she asked. 

Draco blinked. Wasn't that bad enough? Then he looked her up and down with a smirk on his face. "Well, I'm sure the male servants would find you _very_ amusing." 

Hermione tried to conceal her disgust, but it was written all over her face. 

Draco burst out laughing. "We can try to avoid that, however, as long as you behave. But the first time you make any sort of protest, I'm sending you down to the servants' chambers and I'll let them decide on your punishment." Draco smiled inwardly, proud of his own ability to make her look as if she wanted to hurl. This was going to be quite fun after all. 

He got up from the chair again and walked over to the door. "I'll send you back now. I'll call you when you're needed," he said, living a hand to peck on the door and call the servants. He stopped himself. "Wait, what was your name?" 

"Why does that matter?" she asked, standing close to the door, eager to get away from him, "Why call me by my name when 'Mudblood' will do just as well?" There was bitterness in her voice. 

"Point taken," he said, "but I'd still like to know." 

"Hermione Granger." 

"Oh, what a quaint Muggle name!" 

She frowned and stepped closer to the door. "If you're finished with me, I'll gladly return to my cell." 

Draco smiled. "Don't care for my company, Mudblood?" 

"Honestly, no." she replied. 

"An honest Mudblood! Very impressive! Just make sure you keep your manners," he told her, knocking on the door. 

The two servant girls from before appeared and led her back toward the stairs. Draco called down the hall, "Make sure you're prepared for tomorrow! Perhaps I'll hex that horrid hair off your head!" 

Hermione began to fill the anger building in her chest again, but she kept walking. All she would allow herself to do is turn and glare at him over her shoulder until he returned to his room. She gave a small smile when she heard the lock on his door click. 

So she returned to the tiny room in the basement that had only a cot and a toilet. There was a small wooden tray with dinner on it sitting on the cot, and she was surprised that it was generously served. It was delicious, probably the best food she had eaten in her life. After she was finished, she sat the tray by the door and sat down on the cot. 

She looked down at her new brown robe, so warm and clean. Perhaps slave life wouldn't be as horrible as she had thought. She could stand a few curses, as long as she was eventually given the counter-curses. She knew none of the damages done would be permanent, and there was always the escape plan in the back of her mind. 

She still wanted freedom more than anything else. She would rather have old, ragged, dirty robes and be able to learn actual magic for herself than to have new clothes and be treated as a living experiment. What hurt her the most was that she could feel the potential for magic coursing through her body, and she had picked up quite a bit of magical knowledge simply from watching and listening to people on the streets, but she didn't have a wand or a formal education. How she would love to learn it properly, and be able to use her magic to liberate the rest of the Muggle-borns from slavery. 

She shook her head. Who did she think she was? She was just another Mudblood. Just another slave. She'd be lucky if she could make it to a safe house without losing life or limb. But that would be a very happy day, and she would never have to look at Draco Malfoy ever again. With those thoughts in mind, she fell asleep easily on the hard wooden cot. 


	3. Chapter Three

Hermione was called early the next day to Draco's room. She was washed thoroughly again, and given another set of new, clean clothes. It wasn't near so horrible this time, as she knew what was going on and what to expect. 

She was led up the same stairs and down the same hall to the same room as yesterday. The same procedure took place, as the servants gave a knock, were brought in by Draco, and were waved out by him after he had verified that she was clean. Draco seemed in particularly high spirits today, and was visibly excited. He paced around the room as if he were looking for something. Finally he stopped in front of her. 

"We're going to have some fun today!" he said brightly, "Or at least, I'm going to have some fun." 

Hermione simply looked at him curiously as he went back to rummaging around the room. 

A short while later he dropped to the floor and looked under his large canopy bed, which was lined with black curtains. He emerged from the other side of it with a small piece of parchment in his hand. "Found it!" he exclaimed. 

"Found what?" 

"My notes for the curse we're practicing today!" he said cheerily, scanning the parchment with his eyes. He pulled out his wand and seemed to be practicing for a moment before he folded the parchment and crammed it into one of the pockets of his robes. 

Hermione stiffened. This was the part that she had dreaded. She wondered what awful things would be done to her. Would he really hex her hair off? It wasn't exactly her best feature, but she couldn't imagine being bald. Or what if he hexed her nose to grow into a huge, wart covered monstrosity? She nearly shuddered. 

Suddenly she saw him raise his wand and mutter something that she couldn't make out. No accident, since it was forbidden for Mudbloods to learn magic and most wizards and witches refrained from speaking curses to where they could hear them. A red-orange glow sprang from his wand and washed over her. She flinched slightly, then exhaled. She immediately reached up to make sure her hair was still there. It was, thank God. 

She examined the rest of her body, trying to find out what the curse had done, but before she could even get to her feet, she felt a wave of nausea sweep over her that nearly sent her to the ground. She began to feel hot and feverish. She broke out into a sweat, her skin went pale except for a few red blotches along her cheeks and neck. Her hair was beginning to flatten because of the moisture from her sweat. 

When she could no longer stand she crumbled to the floor. She tried to fan herself with her hand, but it did nothing to help. "It's… so hot!" she cried between gasps, finding it hard to breathe. 

Draco was positively beaming. "It worked! Oh, this is better than I had imagined!" 

Hermione looked up at him. "What… was that… curse?!" 

"A heat spell, designed to make it feel as if your blood is boiling." Draco said proudly. 

Hermione heaved, thinking that last night's supper would surely be splattered across the floor in another minute. She felt so very sick. But the worst part was the terrible heat. The brown robe felt like a prison. Ignoring modesty, she pulled it open and climbed out of it, kicking it away from her as if it were a snake. 

In a moment of temporary relief from the heat, she noticed Draco's slightly surprised eyes roaming over her. For an instant she wanted to put the robe back on, but couldn't bring herself to do it. The heat was already coming back. 

Draco watched her with great interest. For some reason, he hadn't imagined that the curse would result in her crawling around his room in her underwear, but something told him he should be happy for it. Her eyes met his for a moment but he diverted them quickly to the rest of her, trying his best to look like he was only interested in the effects of the spell. 

"Well, this was a great success," he said, more calmly than before. 

"The… counter-curse… please!" she called, gasping for air. 

"Maybe tomorrow," he said wickedly. 

"I'll die by then!" she forced out, "Then what… use will I be?!" 

Draco sighed and reached into his pocket. He pulled the parchment out again and looked over it. 

"Hurry!" she screamed, clutching her stomach in an attempt to hold down the food. 

Draco gave her an angry look. "You'll live another hour at least. If you don't keep your dirty Muggle mouth shut, I'll wait till then!" After Hermione nodded heavily, Draco whispered the counter-curse. 

Hermione immediately felt better. It was like she was free. She pulled herself to her feet and took a minute to catch her breath. She pushed the damp hair away from her forehead. She looked down and remembered that she had discarded her robe. Going slightly pink, she went over to get it. 

The robe was not where she'd left it. Draco was standing a couple of feet away from her, holding it up. "Drop something, Mudblood?" 

She stepped forward and reached up to get it, but he jerked it out of her reach. "If you don't take care of the gifts we give you, we may just have to take them away." 

"Give it back to me," she said as calmly as she could. 

"And what else are you supposed to say?" he asked with a grin. 

"Please?" 

He reached her the robe and watched her put it on. "You know, if you were a real witch, you'd look stunning in green robes." 

Hermione looked at him as if he were crazy. Green robes were reserved for the highest class witches, the richest and most powerful women in the magical world. As a child Hermione had watched the beautiful witches in their emerald robes walking by her cell, and had cried over her rags and wished that she would someday have a robe like theirs. "Green's not my color," she finally said to him. 

He looked at her with unblinking eyes, then said "You're right. Brown suits you so much better." 

Hermione understood the insult. Brown robes were worn by the poorest, weakest, and ugliest witches in this society. They were the cheapest, costing barely over nothing. "Are we finished for today?" she asked quickly, happy to change the subject. 

He nodded and turned around. "Knock for the servants yourself." 

Hermione blinked. What was with his mood? All of a sudden he seemed bitter and upset. He had been so happy over the spell's success. What was wrong now? For a split-second she thought of asking him that question, but quickly came to her senses. In the chance that he would actually answer her, he would do so with an insult and she would only be left looking as if she cared, which she didn't. She felt no desire to feed his ego any further. 

She knocked on the door and the two servant girls came hurriedly and led her back down to her cell. Lunch was waiting for her there. She ate it sullenly, taking no pleasure in its taste this time. She felt bitter and upset too, yet she couldn't pinpoint the exact reason. She spell had been painful, but not half as bad as she had expected, and had only lasted a few minutes. 

She decided to ignore her feelings for a while and take a nap. She had literally nothing else to do. She laid back on her cot and tried to fall asleep, but found that she couldn't. She must've had too much sleep the night before. She tossed a few times, and turned a few times more, but still she lay awake. Every time sleep came close, she would begin to dream that Draco hadn't given her the counter-curse and that she was still suffocating and burning in his room. She would see him standing over her, sneering. 

But she would always snap awake before the dream got too far, and she felt a mix between annoyance at the lack of sleep and gratitude that the nightmare didn't last. 

About an hour later, she finally fell asleep. It was not a peaceful sleep however, for the nightmare finally carried on. She even dreamed that she had resorted to tearing off her underwear and Draco had stared at her until the humiliation had become worse than the heat. But when she reached for them to try to pull them back on, Draco burst them into flames with his wand and told her she would not be given another set. 

She awoke with a gasp and sat bolt-upright on the cot. She was sweating again, but it was because of her own frustration and anxiety this time. She threw herself back down and forced herself to calm down. "It's over for today," she told herself, "The curse is gone, and I don't have to see him again till tomorrow." 

Finally she fell asleep again, but she had nightmares still, and it wasn't long before she was awake again to face the long hours of solitude and confinement. Slavery was horrible, she decided, and it couldn't go on like this forever. She would escape, and if it killed her, she would help set others like her free. 


	4. Chapter Four

Draco sat at the end of the huge dining room table. His mother and father were at the other end, eating their meals with the utmost care to manners and formalities. They took their position as high-class very seriously, and would have Draco do the same. 

His father looked up from his plate. "How are you fairing with your slave?" 

"With Hermione? Oh, it's been quite interesting. I invented a new curse today. It had amazing results!" Draco answered excitedly. 

His mother dabbed at her lips with the tip of her napkin. "So the little girl has a name, then?" 

"Yes, Hermione Granger." 

His mother laughed, a strange, fake-sounding giggle. "I didn't even think Muggle-borns had names. I suppose it's cute though." 

His father didn't seem to find it amusing. "And you call her by this name?" 

"Not usually." Draco said, suddenly more interested in his food. 

"Be careful, Draco. You don't want the little Mudblood forgetting her place, now do you?" 

Draco nodded and continued with his supper. Who did they think he was? Did they expect him to sympathize with her and set her free? He was not so weak, and he would prove it to them. 

After dinner was over and the family was sitting around the fireplace in the extravagant living room, Draco stood. "Father, mother, would you like to see the curse I made?" 

They looked at him curiously, then his father smiled. "Yes, that would be a delight." 

Draco called for the servants to bring Hermione up. They rushed downstairs to fetch her, and returned shortly. She looked tired, as if they had woken her up from a nap, and the bright glow from the fireplace hurt her eyes. She looked at Lucius. She remembered him from the street. She had never seen Draco's mother before, but she immediately disliked her, for she sat there in her jade robes, looking at Hermione with disgust. 

Draco smiled at her. "We're going to demonstrate today's curse for my parents. They're anxious to see how it works." 

The color drained from Hermione's face. "We're doing it again?! In front of them?!" she cried, remembering the earlier scene where she had been forced to strip off her robe. 

Draco's parents looked at him sharply, as if to ask "Why are you allowing her to take that tone with you?" Draco reddened very slightly. "Yes, we're doing it again, unless you'd rather be sent to the male servant's quarters without the clothes I personally bought for you!" 

Hermione looked horrified and Draco's parents looked pleased. "All right. Whatever you say," she said, feeling a sickening dread building in her stomach. 

Draco looked satisfied. He pulled his wand from his robes and, without even pulling out the parchment, muttered the curse he had used that morning. 

Again, Hermione felt normal for a couple of seconds before the nausea and heat struck her down. _I will keep my robe on_, she thought to herself, but it was already beginning to choke her. She held true to her vow, for though she suffered for it, she kept the robe firmly in place. She would not allow him to humiliate her again, not like this, not in front of his parents who already looked at her as if she were something they had scraped from the bottom of their boots. 

After a few moments of agony, Draco cast the counter-curse and freed her once again. She pulled herself to a sitting position on the floor. She didn't feel well enough to stand. Though she felt immense relief, something still felt odd. She still felt a bit feverish, but it was more annoying than painful now. 

"You may go back to your cell now," he told her, signaling the servants. 

Hermione attempted to stand up, but fell back down again. Something was definitely wrong here. She was getting more and more dizzy, almost reaching the level she had experienced while being cursed. He had given her the counter-curse, but its effects had been temporary. She looked around the room, and everything had become blurry. Draco and his parents were smeared white clouds surrounded by black sky. She was sure she would faint. 

Draco was more surprised than her, for he was certain he had done the counter-curse correctly. He wanted to pull out the parchment and re-check is work, but was ashamed to in front of his parents, who were already looking at him questioningly. 

"It's just a side-effect," he told them, "it'll wear off in about an hour." 

They looked at each other and then back at him. "Not a very reliable counter-curse you have there, son," his father told him. 

Draco nodded. "I'm working on it. I'll take care of the mess here. The two of you can retire if you wish." 

They smiled at him and stood up, as if they knew he needed time alone to fix his problem. "We'll be upstairs. If you need anything-" 

"I can handle it, Mother," Draco said quickly, trying to hurry them off without being so obvious. 

They nodded and left the room, closing the doors behind them. Draco and Hermione were the only ones left in the room. Servants were waiting outside the door, but would not dare enter unless called. Draco squatted down beside her and put a hand against her forehead. He drew it back as if he had touched a snake. "My God, you're on fire!" he exclaimed, examining his hand, which was already beginning to blister. Her skin had felt like boiling water. 

Hermione didn't know if it was because she was so hot, but his hand had been ice-cold against her face. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered how a human being could have hands so cold without being a corpse, but the thought was quickly forgotten. She felt much sicker than she had when under the spell, and she was scared to death. 

Draco pulled out the parchment and re-read the counter-curse over and again. As he thought, he had done it perfectly. So what went wrong? He pulled out his wand and did the counter-curse again. Hermione cried out and tore at the buttons of her robe. Somehow the counter-curse was making her worse! 

Draco paced back and forth, stretching his mind in an attempt to figure out what had happened, and how to fix Hermione. This was a disaster. His father would be furious if all that money had been wasted. Not only that, but Draco would be humiliated. His first major curse would be a huge failure, and everyone would whisper and laugh about how he killed his own slave with it. 

In desperation he called for the servants. "Get me the house doctor!" he yelled, and they dashed out the door. 

It was a good ten minutes later that they returned with a frail-looking lady who wore white robes that matched her white hair. She knelt down beside Hermione and began to examine her. "What happened here?" she asked. 

Draco explained the curse and the counter-curse, and the effects of each. The doctor listened carefully, then began to unfasten Hermione's robe. "She has a very severe fever, probably just an after-effect of the curse. Casting it twice in one day is what caused it, I'd say." 

"Will she live?" Draco asked, careful not to sound too worried. She was a Mudblood, after all. 

"Yes, but only if we get the fever down. We'll need a tub full of ice water immediately." At this Draco informed the servants and the scurried to the nearest bathroom. The doctor had already removed Hermione's robe, and began on the bra before she stopped and stood up. "Carry her to the bathroom," she commanded. 

Draco wasn't used to taking orders from anyone but his father, but he trusted the doctor's wisdom. He picked up Hermione and flinched from the heat of her skin. He kept a layer of his cloak between his skin and hers the entire time, but the heat was seeping through quite easily. He was surprised at how light she was, how small she seemed when curled up in his arms. It wasn't a feeling he was comfortable with, so he headed for the bathroom in a run. 

Once there he sat her down on the edge of the tub and the doctor appeared moments later, unable to keep up with his speed. "You can step out now, Mr. Malfoy," she said, preparing to remove the rest of Hermione's clothing. 

Draco paused at the door. "You cannot command me," he said bluntly. 

"You're not needed until she's ready to come out. If you want to see her body, then do so on your own terms. She is your slave, after all, but have the decency to wait until she's conscious!" 

Draco flushed red, from embarrassment or anger, even he did not know. He started to protest, but stopped himself. The doctor knew what she was doing. He nodded sullenly and stepped out, closing the door behind him. 

How differently the day had turned out than what he had planned. His curse had failed and it would possibly cost him his slave. He stared at the bathroom door with narrowed eyes. "You'd better live, Mudblood," he muttered almost inaudibly, "because I'll be the one to suffer if you don't!" 


	5. Chapter Five

Hermione awoke to a strange feeling. She remembered feeling very hot and sick before passing out, but now she felt so very cold. She felt as if she were outside in a blizzard. But she was not outside. She was in Draco's bedroom, and even more shockingly, lying in his bed. To her great relief, he was not in the bed with her, and by the way the pillows and sheets around her were so neatly arranged, she was fairly certain that he hadn't been in the bed with her at any time. 

She rose up and shivered as the covers slid from her shoulders. She jerked them back up around her neck, trying to gather what warmth she could. It was hard though, since the sheets seemed icy themselves and the air in the room was frigid. Before, she had barely noticed that his room was a bit cold, but now it hit her like a ton of bricks. 

She opened the sheets a bit and peeked underneath. All her clothes were gone, but her body appeared untouched. She wondered what had happened, but somehow the idea of Draco having his way with her while she was unconscious seemed ridiculous. He avoided touching her, even though she was always being scrubbed by the servants, and she often caught him staring at her with a look of repulsion on his face. 

The door creaked and her eyes darted to the source of the sound. Draco walked in, looking half-way angry and half-way worried. Suddenly she felt very vulnerable, knowing that under the sheets she was naked. What if he told her to get out of his room that instant? How mortifying that would be! She tried to look bold, but could feel the façade failing. 

He walked right up to the bed. "You almost got me into a load of trouble!" he told her with furrowed brow, but there was something in his tone that told her not to be afraid. 

"Me?! You're the one who hexed me!" 

"And you're the one who was too weak to handle it!" 

Hermione gaped at him. How could one person be so impossible? Was there no end to his arrogance? She still felt weak and tired from the sickness, so she refrained from continuing the argument. "I'm sleepy, and hungry, and cold," she said, drawing the covers ever tighter around her form. 

Draco muttered something under his breath about "weak Mudbloods" and went over to the door. He spoke with some servants and then returned to his chair. Hermione nodded in and out of sleep. At one point she awoke to find Draco glaring at her. "Enjoying my bed?" he asked sourly. 

"Not particularly, no." she answered. 

"Oh really?" Draco asked with raised eyebrows, somewhat surprised. 

"The sheets are like ice, and even the covers are cold. How can you stand it in here?" 

"You're more than welcome to go back to your cell." 

Hermione pretended to be asleep again. 

A few minutes later she awoke again as the servants returned. They had with them heavy blankets, two trays of food, and some other objects that she couldn't name. They gathered around her and began to switch Draco's bed sheets for warm blankets. Draco stood and stepped in close, but couldn't get near enough to watch. He wondered why he wanted to watch at all. 

With that business finished, they sat the two trays on the bed beside her and lifted the lids. A steaming hot meal was presented to her, and she thanked them all as if they had done it out of the kindness of their hearts rather than fear of loosing their jobs. 

After she finished eating, they took the other objects, which were like jars, and opened them. Each had some sort of oil or lotion, and they worked each substance into a different area of her skin. One oil went in her hair, another was smoothed into her shoulders. They cleverly kept her covered the entire time, which somehow seemed to frustrate Draco. 

As the oils seeped into her skin, she began to feel drowsy and warm. The covers seemed so much more comfortable and the pillows were noticeably softer. She quickly fell into a deep sleep. 

Hours later her eyes drifted open and the room was dim. Only a few candles were lit and the room was colder than ever. The oils must have worn off. She wondered what time it was, and how long she'd been laying in the bed. She glanced around without moving, too tired still yet. Something caught her eye in the candle-light. 

Draco was standing on the other side of the room, and she could see him through the large mirror facing the bed. Evidently he had just stepped out of the bath, for his hair was wet and hanging in his eyes in a manner that he would never allow in public. He was without his robes, wearing only black trousers. Hermione stared at him through the mirror, amazed at how beautiful he looked. 

She had barely noticed what he looked like before. She had thought of him as nothing but a rich brat. His hair had been pushed back, no attention given to it at all, and his body had been covered in many layers of robes. But now, in the dim light, he looked like something out of a fairy tale. 

She had seen very few males out of their robes. Only the other slaves on occasion with their near-skeletal, dirty forms peeking out from beneath especially hole-filled robes. Or sometimes she caught sight of the hideous, bulging, hairy belly of the merchant on extremely hot days in the streets. 

She felt very tense, worried about where he was going to sleep since it was obviously nighttime. Would he crawl into bed with her? How would she handle that, especially with these strange, uncomfortable thoughts about his looks racing through her brain? It was so much easier when she just plain hated him. She still hated him, she decided, but there was nothing wrong with hating something beautiful. After all, he certainly didn't look beautiful at any other time. 

She watched him pull on his robes and walk around the bed to her side, and she closed her eyes quickly. She would be mortified if he found out she had been watching him. Whatever she had thought about him for that minute was pointless. He was a Wizard, and she was a Mudblood. What's worse, he was her owner, and she was nothing more than another possession. She couldn't allow herself to feel anything for him, except for hate. 

She heard his footsteps around the bed. Her whole body went rigid. What did he expect of her? Surely he wouldn't want to touch her. She hadn't been bathed since yesterday, unless he counted the tub of ice water. She was relieved when she felt his hand on her covered shoulder and heard him say "Wake up," in his usual surly tone. He was just the way she remembered him. 

She opened her eyes slowly. "What is it?" she murmured. 

"I'm going to sleep in a guest room down the hall. There will be servants in the room and outside the door, in case you get any ideas." 

"Or in case I need something." Hermione said bluntly. 

"Whatever," he muttered, turning to walk away from her. She stared at him until he was gone, and two servants walked in. 

She pulled the covers tighter around herself and attempted to force the image of him standing in the mirror, shirtless and with dripping platinum hair, out of her mind. It was a hard thing for her to do, for she had never had any use for hormones before and they had suddenly (and unwillingly) come to life with all of the force and power that they would have had at age sixteen. 

Still yet, she was devoted to her resolutions, and she refused to think of Draco in any way that didn't include resentment. He was everything that she hated about the world, all wrapped up into a pretty package. For all she knew, he had staged the whole thing, in an attempt to mess with her mind. 

She mentally slapped herself, reminding herself of how cocky and rude he was. She would not succumb to his games. She was stronger and smarter than that. So she shoved him out of her mind and fell back to sleep, but she saw his face in her dreams. 


	6. Chapter Six

The next day Hermione was back in her lonely cell and feeling much better, physically at least. Emotionally, she was a bit of a mess. She hated Draco, honestly she did, but something fluttered in her stomach every time she thought of him in the candle-lit room. To counter this, she pictured him as he looked every other time she'd seen him. Though not charmless, he was no Romeo. 

She heard footsteps coming down the hall and stood up, expecting the servants to appear at the door to take her for her bath. She was more than a little shocked when the door opened and it was Draco. He'd only been to her cell once before, and it was a very brief visit with the purpose of instructing the servants. Why would he come all the way down here when he could simply wait for her in his room? 

She noticed, with some worry, that he looked colder than usual. His eyes were more like steel than blue and his hair was hanging in his face, just like last night, except that it was dry. He was only in black robes, no cloak, and it looked as if he'd dressed in a hurry. Hermione had no clock, so she had no idea what time it was. 

"What brings you here?" she asked, trying to hide the confusion in her voice. 

"We need to have a little talk," he told her, and she sat on the cot. She gestured for him to sit as well, but he ignored her. "The only reason I kept you in my room last night was that I didn't want my father to find out the curse had failed so miserably. I was trying to avoid trouble, but instead found myself in more trouble than I imagined." 

Hermione figured that this explained his strange behavior. "What do you mean?" she asked. 

"Apparently one of the servants told my father that the slave was sleeping in my bed. He decided to check it out, and, obviously, he found out the truth. I've had to endure his lectures all morning. Bloody old fool didn't even give me the chance to dress before he barged into the guest room I was in, cursing and making threats." 

"I don't understand. What's the big deal? Didn't your father buy me for you in the first place?" 

"Yes, but I wasn't supposed to be nice to you! He doesn't understand that I wasn't _being_ nice. I was trying to save myself from trouble. The more I talked, the angrier he got. Now he thinks I'm a weak little Muggle-lover!" 

Hermione frowned. "How old are you?" 

"Eighteen, not that it's any of your business." 

"Then you're a legal adult. Ignore your father." 

Draco looked at her as if she'd just insulted him gravely. "I can't ignore him! I depend on him! As long as he supports me, I owe him my respect and my obedience! His opinion of me affects a lot of things, so I must keep it high. The only way I can repair this mess is to show him that I'm NOT what he thinks I am." 

"I don't like your implications," Hermione told him uneasily. 

Draco went on as if he didn't hear her. "That's the reason I came down here. To prove to my father that last night meant nothing, I have to do something drastic. The obvious choice is to hex you with something painful, or something that would have lasting effects." 

Hermione blanched. 

"Or, I could do what I threatened to before, and send you down to the most vile and perverse servants we own. I'll let the choice be yours." Surprisingly, Draco said this without a hint of maliciousness or pleasure, as he had done before. Instead, he looked rather frustrated at the situation. 

"This is ridiculous! You shouldn't have to prove anything to your father! Surely you have enough education and finances of your own to make due!" 

"Are you suggesting that I leave?! For your sake?!" Draco laughed cruelly, but did not seem to be amused. 

"Not for my sake, but for you own! You can't live under his shadow forever you know!" 

"I told you! I depend on his support! You're just trying to weasel your way out of this!" he yelled. 

"Weasel out of what? My _unfair_ punishment? It's not my fault that you're a spoiled brat who's eighteen years old and still afraid of his daddy!" 

Draco smacked her. The sound reverberated around the cell and came back to sting Hermione's ears almost as badly as his leather-gloved hand across her cheek. Her face burned with a numbing sort of pain. Blood ebbed at the corner of her mouth. She wondered how hard he'd actually hit her, for she was in too much shock to figure it out. 

Her eyes flashed, and she raised her hand so quickly that he didn't have time to even flinch before she'd smacked him back. He glared at her from beneath the messed white-blonde hair. "You hit me, you bitch!" he growled, holding a hand to his stinging face. 

"You hit me first!" she cried. "I thought it was improper for a man to strike a woman! And here I was under the impression that you were raised as high-class!" 

"It's not considered improper for a _Wizard_ to strike a _Mudblood_," he said coldly. For the first time, his eyes seemed frozen, as if what little compassion he had buried within him had shriveled up and died. 

"You don't even think of me as a woman, do you? I'm just a lowly creature to you, like an animal!" Hermione screamed at him, trying to keep herself from falling apart. 

"Exactly," he said emotionlessly. 

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, I'm a human being too! Just because I was born a certain way doesn't make me less than human, and it doesn't make you more!" She could feel tears welling up in her eyes, but she couldn't allow herself to cry. Not in front of him. Displaying weakness to the enemy was a huge no-no. 

Draco looked at her with an unsettling gaze. It was as if he hadn't even heard her. "Your little fit today will cost you. You no longer get a choice for your punishment. I'll send you down to the servants." 

Hermione collapsed back onto the cot. He was so impossible. Nothing she could do or say would affect him at all. And now she was doomed to abuse, humiliation, and who knew what else? She couldn't hold back the tears any longer and they ran down her face in currents. She made no attempt to stop them, or wipe them away. She didn't sob or shake, it was not her nature. She just looked at the wall in front of her, with blurry vision from the tears, and tried to focus on something, _anything_ else. 

Draco turned his face away from her and knocked on the door. Two servants came running up. "She's ready to be bathed," he told them, and each of them took one of her arms. They pulled her up and led her out the door. Draco followed. 

One of the servants turned to look at him curiously. "Aren't you going back upstairs, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked. 

He paused, starting at Hermione who had also turned to look at him. Her face was still stained with tears, though they had stopped flowing, and she had a strange look of worry on her face. He could still fill the sting of her dirty Mudblood hand across his face. He could still feel the anger burning inside him. "No, I'll go with you to make sure you clean her well. She's dirtier than usual today." 

All the color drained from Hermione's face. "You… you're going to _watch_?" 

He nodded, and Hermione looked to the servants beside her, as if she hoped that they would say "no", that they would tell him he couldn't. The logical part of her mind told her how stupid the idea was. They were his servants, and what he said was their law. 

The walk to the bathing room was excruciating this time, as every step took her closer to her impending humiliation. A knot was building up in her stomach and she felt like she would be sick. How could he do something like this? She was sure that he had no physical interest in her. He didn't even think of her as a female, and she was disgusting in his eyes. His only purpose was to cause her shame and fear. 

She tried to convince herself that she didn't care. He was a spoiled brat, and that was it. He was a cocky, no-good elitist who didn't deserve her thoughts. But every time she pounded these things into her brain the image of him from the night before thrust itself into her mind's eye. 

Finally they arrived in the bathing room and Draco closed the door behind them. He stood leaning against the wall, staring at her with an expressionless face. She thought of struggling, of running for the door or attacking the servants. But she realized that those ideas were useless. Draco would have her down with a curse within seconds and she'd be in worse trouble. 

So she allowed the servants to remove her clothes, though she covered herself with her arms as best she could. She felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment, but she wouldn't allow herself to cry or whimper. She was stronger than that. She would show him that she wasn't as weak as he thought she was. 

She was pushed onto the platform and scrubbed, Draco's eyes on her the entire time. Though certain that he had seen plenty, she still covered herself when she could. She wasn't going to give him more than was necessary. She wouldn't look him in the eyes, for she knew that if she did she would crumble. 

Eventually they turned on the rinsing water through the tube and the force knocked her to the ground. Startled, her eyes darted around and met with his. For an instant, he didn't seem as cold as he had before, but the glimmer of humanity faded almost as quickly as it had appeared. She looked down, suddenly realizing that she wasn't covering herself. She tried to put her arms around herself, but the force kept knocking her down. It felt particularly strong and painful today, and she imagined it was because of the situation. When she could take no more, she began crying again, and when the water shut off she curled up into a ball and sobbed. 

The servants ran over and draped heavy towels over her, apparently feeling sympathy for her. When Hermione looked back up, the door was standing open and Draco was gone. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Draco lay across his bed on his stomach, his face against his arms but his mind back in the bathing room downstairs. Why did he walk away at the sight of her balled up in despair? Maybe his father was right after all. Maybe he was weak. 

He had intended to shame her, embarrass her, as punishment for having the audacity to strike him. Instead, he had put himself in yet another predicament. Watching her had affected him in some way that he didn't quite understand yet. 

Whatever he had thought before, he definitely saw her as a woman now. Her image had been carved into his mind, and he wondered if he would ever forget it. He had been with girls before, other Witches who were close to his social status, but none of them looked anything like Hermione. 

Hermione's form was small and delicate, milky-white skin tinted slightly pink. It was like something from an overly dramatic romance story, like something from mythology. Draco wasn't even aware that a real creature could look like that. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. 

He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. How could he be thinking these thoughts? She was a Mudblood first, woman second. What she looked like shouldn't matter to him. But it did matter, and every time he examined her features as he remembered them his heart began to pound harder. His body reacted to his thoughts and he couldn't stop it. 

She was like the ultimate forbidden fruit, something he could never have and shouldn't even want. To touch her would be to contaminate himself, not to mention break the law. For a Wizard to mate with a Mudblood would be a horrible offense. Tainting a pure bloodline was punishable by death. 

Unfortunately, all this only made him want her more. He wanted that delicate form in his arms, to make it his. He owned her, true, but she was like a doll owned by a child who could never play with it. It was torture. 

A little voice in his head whispered "What about her? What about Hermione's feelings?" 

Draco almost laughed. Why would he care about her feelings? She was his slave, a Mudblood. She didn't even have the right to have feelings or opinions. But then the image of her curled up on the bathing platform, shaking with sobs, appeared in his mind. A sharp pain shot through his head, as if a migraine were approaching fast. He idly wondered if perhaps his body was punishing him for his cruelty since his conscience had failed to do so. 

For an instant, he questioned his ideals. Why should such a lovely creature have to suffer because of the way she was born? What gave him the right to be so barbarous to her? He shook his head. He couldn't entertain such thoughts. If his father knew he was thinking like that, he would surely be thrown out of the house, and Hermione put to death. 

No matter what he thought about, he still couldn't focus on anything but her. He was beginning to burn for her, and he had to keep himself under control. He grumbled as he got up from the bed and paced the room, trying to erase her from his memory. Doing so only frustrated him more. He wanted to see her again. He wanted her back in his room. He wanted things to be back as they were, when he still thought of her as nothing more than a slave, and she obeyed him with only a quiet sort of rebellion. 

After much thought, he finally told the servants to bring her up to his room. He decided that he would act as if nothing had happened, and he would change his mind about the punishment. He would just give her a painful curse that had temporary effects and let it go at that. That way, things could go back to normal. 

When the servants brought her up, she walked in slowly, like a zombie. She looked at the floor and never lifted her eyes to him. Her cheeks were tinted red, surprising him that she was still embarrassed, even though she was back in her robe. Also surprising him was the fact that he kept imagining her out of the robe. 

"Well, I hope you've learned your lesson. Maybe you'll behave from now on," he said. 

She nodded without looking up. 

Her reaction was disappointing, to say the least. Was she pouting? "It's rude not to look at your master when he's talking to you," he told her grumpily. 

She lifted her face and looked him in the eyes. If he had less self-control, he would have gasped. The look in her eyes, of shame and sorrow and hopelessness, was enough to drive a spike through the hardest of hearts. They were still glossy from all the crying, and her lips quivered ever so slightly. It hadn't dawned on him that she'd had a horrible day. Waking up on her hard cot after spending the night in his soft bed, being told she would be punished for nothing, being struck by him, finding out she would be sent to the half-blood servants downstairs for their pleasure, and enduring the horror of the bathing incident of earlier that afternoon. 

He remembered his first thought when he was buying her, that it would be enjoyable to break a rebellious Mudlbood in. Well, it looked like he'd broke her in all right, and somehow he could get no joy whatsoever from it. 

Hermione couldn't hold his gaze much longer before she weakened and looked back down. Instinct told him to apologize, but he couldn't do that. He couldn't prove his father right. She was just a Mudblood. He shouldn't even care. 

"We're going to continue with the experimental cursing, which will include your punishment. I decided against sending you to the servants for now. In your state you'd probably bore them to death." 

Hermione nodded. The slightly good news didn't help her mood much. A glint of worry entered his mind. What if he'd driven her insane? What use would she be then? He put a hand on her shoulder and shook her slightly. "Hey, are you all right?" 

She looked back up at him for a moment. "I'm fine," she said, and her voice was unbearably small and cracking. She looked so fragile. 

He realized he hadn't removed his hand, and impulsively put his free hand on her other shoulder. One hand slid up her neck and to her chin. He lifted her face back up. It was so beautiful, and her skin felt so warm against his. He leaned in closer, desiring to feel her short, surprised breaths against his face. Her lips were quivering more than before, and he wanted nothing more than to smother them with his own. 

In a second of weakness, he pressed his lips fiercely to hers. Her mouth was so warm, so delicious. Her lips twitched against his mouth, her eyes slid closed. He'd never kissed anyone like that before, and from Hermione's trembling, he was sure she never had either. 

Suddenly he realized what he was doing and he pulled away, shoving her back a few steps at the same time. His hand went up to his mouth and wiped vigorously, as if to rub her germs away. They still burned from the heat of her lips. For the first time he noticed what a striking difference there was in their body temperatures. He had always been a cold-natured person, but his whole family had been too. Hermione was the warmest person he'd ever come into contact with. 

She looked utterly shocked, staring at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. He couldn't tell whether she looked frightened or offended, and he told himself that he didn't care. He'd had a taste of her, and he wanted more. She was his, after all! Why shouldn't he enjoy her for all she was worth? She was no child, and she was not a cripple. She was a healthy Mudblood adult. What would be wrong with it? 

He walked over and grabbed her shoulders again. He cast a sideways glance to the door, making certain that it was locked, then looked back at her face. She seemed to have regained some of her spirit. "What are you doing?" she asked uneasily. 

He didn't have an answer for her, or one for himself for that matter. All he could think of was how much he wanted her. He looked her in the eyes through strands of soft, silver hair. "Take off your robe," he whispered. 

Hermione panicked, knowing then what was going to happen. She shoved his hands away. "No! You humiliated me once already today!" she cried, stepping backwards. 

He stepped toward her again. "You can't deny me. I'm your owner," he said, "and besides, I know you're attracted to me." 

Despite her best intentions, her cheeks went red. "What are you talking about?!" 

"In the bathing room, I saw your eyes when the water knocked you down. I saw why you were so humiliated, I saw you blushing. I'm not stupid." 

Hermione shook her head. "Anyone would be embarrassed in such a situation!" But nevertheless she blushed even more furiously. 

Draco smiled. He had been right. In truth, he had only a small suspicion that she felt attraction for him, but her behavior had verified it. He clasped his arms around her firmly, his hands working at the buttons of her robe. Hermione wanted to yell or fight, but no matter what she told herself, Draco had been right. She was attracted to him. Despite that, she didn't want this. She didn't want it to be like this. This way would be humiliating and the complete opposite of all the romantic daydreams she'd entertained as an early teenager. She wasn't ready for this, but how could she resist? He was her owner, and more powerful than she. All she could do was cry silently, and look at the door that seemed so very far away. 

Draco unfastened the final button of the robe and pulled it from her shoulders. She shivered, the room was still very cold. Her cheeks were getting redder by the second. Within moments he had removed the rest of her clothing, save for her white cotton socks. He looked her up and down, and in shame, she held her face in her hands. 

He pulled her hands away and looked her in the eyes. She was more beautiful now than ever. With every touch, every kiss, he felt that he was sealing his doom, but he didn't care. He'd rather die than deny himself this. He ignored her tears, telling himself that they didn't matter, but what was left of his conscience cringed ever time another tear ran down her reddened cheeks. 

He pulled her to the bed and lifted her onto it. He tore off his robes, eager to be free of them, and watched Hermione's eyes roam over him, her face becoming redder by the second. Her tears stopped for a while, as he crawled onto her and kissed her passionately. But when his hands began groping again, they returned. 

He made use of her entire body, exploring it and enjoying it in every way he could think of. She struggled some, at certain times. Sometimes she cried louder, but eventually she just became still and allowed him to have his way with her. Her situation was hopeless anyway. 

When he finally entered her body, which rejected him all it could before he forced his way in, he felt her tense up, and fresh tears escaped from her eyes. She looked away from him, closing her eyes tightly and presumably trying to imagine that it wasn't happening. 

He gripped her face in his hand and turned it to him. "Open your eyes," he said huskily. 

She refused, squinting her eyes more tightly shut. He intentionally gave a painful thrust inside her. "I said, open you eyes!" 

She did so, and again he found himself staring at the very image of despair. Her eyes were so beautiful, especially when they were so painfully sad. A part of him wanted to hold her gently and tell her everything would be okay, but he mentally destroyed that part as soon as it surfaced. He just kept reminding himself that she was his slave, and he was her owner. He stared her in the eyes until he finished, at which point he let go of her face and she turned it away quickly. 

He got up from the bed and pulled on his slacks. He reached over and pulled a sheet over her body. She was trembling, and curled up as she had been on the bathing platform. He felt a twinge of pain in his head again. He leaned over her. "If it's any consolation, this won't happen again." 

She couldn't bring herself to look at him, but she nodded. 

"When you feel like it, call for the servants and they'll clean you up and give you fresh clothes. You dinner should be waiting in your cell. I'm off to scrub myself until I'm rid of your Mudblood germs. See you tomorrow." 

He started to go for the door, but he paused at the sound of her tiny voice. "Not if I can help it." 

He turned. "What did you say?" 

"I said, not if I can help it," she repeated, still not looking up from the pillow. 

"Don't tell me you're planning an escape." 

"An escape from your house? From slavery? No exactly," she said tonelessly, clutching the sheets in her shaking hands. "I'm planning an escape from life." 

Author's Notes: I hope this wasn't too... racy. If anyone finds this truly offensive, I will happily edit it for content (and also edit future chapters to come). But I really doesn't get any worse than this, meaning it doesn't get any more detailed. If anyone else is good at writing detailed lemons, and would like to write a very detailed account of one of Draco and Hermione's romps (in the world of my fanfic), please e-mail me! I'd love to see one. ^.^ Oh, and just to let everyone know, I began this fic on November 9 of last year, when I posted the first chapter on the Harry Potter Cinescape boards. I also have it on Restrictedsection.org. So some of you may recognize it from one of those two places. 

Anyway, I really, truly appreciate each and every review you leave. Even if it's just a couple of words, it means so much to me. However, the long reviews melt my heart and make me glad I'm alive. ^__^ E-mails are also extremely nice. I answer any and all letters and am very grateful for them. I also love to meet new friends who are also interested in the Draco/Hermione pairing. I have a Livejournal community set up for fans of this pairing, so if you're interested in joining, let me know!! 

I also feel the need to point out that I have finished this story and it has 15 chapters. So why am I posting them this way? I wanted to post the first five at once to get everyone's attention. After chapter five, all the chapters have something very significant in them. For that reason, I wanted to post them seperately so I could get individual responses to them. But I will post the chapters very fast, I promise. ^_^ 

Oh yeah, while I'm rambling like an idiot, I'd also like to mention that I have a Gundam Wing fanfiction contest going on now (for any of you that may be GW fans), and am offering free anime tapes as prizes. E-mail me if you're interested! 


	8. Chapter Eight

Days had passed and Hermione had heard nothing from Draco. She was thankful for small favors, as he was the last thing she wanted to see. She was also thankful, for once, for the thorough bathing. But she could still feel his ice-cold skin on her, could still feel the tips of his soft hair grazing over her body as he used her. 

Shamefully, she'd been amazed yet again by his beauty, but could take no pleasure from it. He had no concern whatsoever for her feelings, and had robbed from her all she had left: her dignity. For that, she hated him far worse than ever before. 

She had been doing some heavy pondering, on exactly how she would get herself out of this situation. Her most obvious choice was to kill herself and be done with it. She wouldn't allow Draco to use her again in such a way. It was the most horrible violation she could think of. No matter what action was necessary, she would take it. 

She felt her stomach lurch when the servants came that day to take her to Draco's room. He'd said it was a one-time affair, but could he be trusted? Surely not. She geared herself up for anything. If she had to attack him until he killed her himself, she would. She prayed that he would just curse her, or scold her. Anything else, as long as he didn't touch her. And in the back of her mind, she prayed that he would have his hair shoved back today, that his eyes would be dull instead of bright, and that he would be in full robes and cloak. 

That prayer, at least, wasn't answered. He looked more beautiful today than he had before. He was sitting in his chair, wearing black pants and a white sleeveless undershirt. His hair was hanging in his glistening yet narrowed eyes. He looked angry, and she felt worry and fear creeping up her spine. 

The servants walked out, and Draco stood up. He walked over to her, looked her in the eyes for a moment, then punched her right through the face. The force was enough to send her a foot back and to the ground. She looked up in disbelief, holding her face. The pain was so bad that she was sure her jaw had been fractured. 

Draco looked down at her with pure contempt. "You thought you'd be clever, didn't you? Telling the servants everything that happened between us, knowing that word would get back to my father!" 

Hermione frowned, her anger being sparked. "Not only do I have to endure your abuse, but I have to endure it in silence?!" 

"Yes you do!" he screamed, squatting down beside her threateningly. "You knew my father would kill me if he found out I'd… mated… with a Mudblood!" He said the last part with the most disgusted voice he could muster. "Luckily he believed me over you, but it took me hours to convince him! Do you know how close you came to having me killed?!" At this point he had pulled her up to face him by her hair. 

"Not near close enough, apparently," she said bitterly, unable to hold back her own trembling. A single, salty tear strolled down over her already-bruised cheek. 

Draco growled and jerked her down face-first against the floor. She could almost hear her nose breaking. "Ungrateful little whore! I fed you, gave you a home, gave you clothes! If it wasn't for me, you'd still be on the streets, being fed left-over slops in your cage!" 

She didn't move. She was afraid to, for he still had a handful of her hair. "If it wasn't for you, I'd still have a shred of hope," she said quietly, her voice muffled slightly by the floor. 

He let go of her. "Hope for what?" he asked, almost laughing. What could a Mudblood possibly hope for, he wondered. 

"Hope for a future," she said, turning her head to look up at him. 

"Mudbloods don't have a future," he said coldly, "Your kind is predicted to die out within a matter of years." 

Hermione looked surprised. "… How? There are so many of us…" 

"Not as many as you think, and as long as you don't breed, how can you produce more?" 

"Don't breed? You mean… we can't…" Hermione was almost stuttering in her shock. 

"Mudbloods are not permitted to breed, under any circumstances. Therefore, I did you a favor the other night. If not for me, you'd be a virgin for the rest of your life," he said arrogantly, seemingly proud of himself. 

Hermione sat up on the floor. "I'd rather have remained a virgin forever than to have you rape me." 

Draco flashed her a glare. "Don't call it that. That's not what it was." 

"Then what was it?! You forced yourself on me!" 

"You enjoyed it!" he screamed back. 

"Oh really?! Was that why I was crying the entire time?!" 

Draco's features softened for a moment, as if the memory affected him. Then his glare returned. "Crying or not, I saw the look in your eyes that night! And need I remind you that your body reacted just the same as mine?" 

Hermione blushed reflexively. "That's not the point! The point is that I told you no and you ignored me! You couldn't have cared less what I wanted! My feelings meant absolutely nothing to you! I've never felt so violated, or humiliated!" 

Draco was still frowning. "Stop complaining. I risked my life to give you something you'd never have gotten otherwise." 

"How dare you try to twist things around that way! You KNOW I didn't want that! At least have the guts to admit that you raped me!" 

Draco stared at her silently for a moment, then he sighed. "All right. I admit that I raped you." 

Hermione took a deep breath, then went on. "Okay, now I want to know why." 

He looked at her sharply. "Pressing your luck, aren't you? I brought you up here with the intention to beat you into a bloody stain on the floor, which I may still do." 

"I can handle that," she told him, "but I can't handle wondering why someone so disgusted by me would do such a thing." 

"Maybe I was getting desperate," he said, "You're certainly rock bottom." 

She tried to keep her composure. "Maybe, but I want a definite answer." 

"For the thrill of it; for the danger. Because you're beautiful, even if you're filthy, and you're even more beautiful when I'm hurting you. That answer enough for you?" he asked, his blue eyes glistening. 

She looked at him scornfully. "Why are you really doing this to me? All these mind games, trying to drive me insane. Do you really hate Mudbloods so badly?" 

"What are you talking about?" 

"You know what I'm talking about! It was all staged, wasn't it? Coming out of the shower that night when I was in your bed, knowing I was watching, wearing your hair like that, not wearing your robes most of the time, showing me your body, and now telling me you think I'm beautiful! What sort of fool do you think I am?! I've figured out your plan, though! You wanted to make me fall in love with you, so you could just break my heart and laugh at me!" 

Draco was speechless for a few minutes, allowing it all to sink in. She had been watching him that night, she'd been noticing his hair and what he wore. She was falling in love with him? But how? He'd been so cruel to her. It seemed ridiculous. He didn't even believe in love. "You thought… I was trying to make you fall in love with me?!" 

"That was your plan, wasn't it?" 

Draco laughed loudly. "I could care less if you fall in love with me or not! The very idea is hilarious! Love doesn't even exist!" 

Hermione stared at him with wide eyes. "You don't believe in love?" 

"Of course not! Why should I? The whole concept is utterly stupid!" 

"How can you have such a morbid view? You've lived your whole life with a loving family, in this huge house, with all the luxuries you could dream of! Do you have any idea how many people would kill for your life?!" 

Draco laughed even harder. "Oh yes, my _loving_ family! My wonderful father who barely knows who I am, and wouldn't hesitate a second to turn me over to the death sentence if he thought I'd had sex with a Mudblood! And this wonderful huge house, with all its empty rooms and silent hallways! Yes, I have a truly luxurious life!" 

Hermione fell silent. She hadn't thought about Draco's feelings. It hadn't occurred to her that he was all alone. In the time she'd been at the house, she'd never seen a friend or visitor. He had all the material things he could ever hope for, but had nothing else. No wonder he was so bitter and cynical. No wonder he scoffed at love. He'd never encountered it before. 

Suddenly she realized that she was sympathizing for him, and reminded herself of how brutally he had treated her. Nothing excused his behavior. "Nevertheless, you have been cruel to me, and I can't easily forget it." 

"Likewise, I can't forget your little trick that nearly got me killed. You'll be punished, of course. I've actually just thought of a perfect punishment: Lashings!" 

Hermione looked at him incredulously. "Lashings?!" 

"The servants are lashed for misbehaving. Why shouldn't you?" 

"But… lashings?! That's so… Middle Ages!" 

"Which is exactly why we use it in our home. In the Middle Ages, people knew their place in society. Why? Because they were punished when they forgot." 

Hermione frowned at him. "How could I forget my place when you remind me every two seconds?" 

"Regardless, you'll be lashed one hundred times this evening. Just thought I'd give you something to look forward to," he said with a grin. 

Hermione darkened her frown. "You deserve to be alone for the rest of your life," she told him before turning on her heel and going for the door. "I'll be waiting in my cell, if that's all right with you." Her voice was lined with venom. 

Draco nodded, still grinning, and she opened the door to be greeted by two waiting servants. "Have a pleasant supper!" he called after her, but when the door closed, his grin faded. 

I know it's late, but here's my disclaimor: I do not own Harry Potter or it's characters. ^_^ 


	9. Chapter Nine

Hermione stood nervously in the cold stone cell. Not her own, but the one the servants had led her to when the time had come for her lashings. She had fooled herself into thinking Draco had been joking. Now she was paying the price, for she had not mentally prepared herself. 

Her mind raced as she imagined a huge, hulking man with a black mask coming in to lash her. How disgusting. She eyed the chains and shackles hanging from the ceiling and imagined herself in them. A shiver ran down her spine. 

When the door to the cell opened, Hermione was quite shocked when two very small women walked inside. "We've come to prepare you," one of them said quickly, reading the implications on Hermione's shocked face and eager to let her know that they were not lashers. 

Hermione wondered if she should feel relieved or not. The two women began measuring Hermione's wrists and adjusting the shackles. One of them turned to her. "You'll have to remove your robe." 

Hermione clung to the thin cotton. "Why?!" 

"You can keep everything else on." 

"Oh, _everything_ else? All two pieces?" Hermione asked, then immediately regretted her sarcasm. These women weren't to blame. They were just doing their job. No doubt they'd be lashed if anything were to go wrong. 

"Actually, four, if you count your socks," the woman said with a faint, weak smile as Hermione handed her the robe. "I'll be waiting outside with it. I'll bring it right back in after it's over." 

Hermione wondered if the woman had heard about what Draco had done to her before. "How long does it usually last?" she asked her, as they lifted her arms and fixed them into the shackles. Hermione's toes barely touched the ground after they pulled a lever which lifted the chains. 

"It depends on a lot of things," she replied uneasily, then followed the other woman out of the cell and closed the door behind them. 

Hermione stood, extremely uncomfortably, for at least ten minutes. She was shivering from the icy air of the dungeon, and also from her nervousness. She was so very vulnerable, and the idea of some stranger just walking in at any moment to see her in such a position was dreadful. 

"No," she said to herself, "whoever the lasher is, he'll tell Draco everything that happens! I can't let him get the satisfaction of hearing I'd screamed like a child!" 

A moment later she heard the door creak open. Her back was to the door, but she could hear the door closing again, and then soft footsteps approaching. The only light came from three candles positioned around the room, and the atmosphere of the situation was terrifying to say the least. She was shivering much worse now, to the point that her teeth were chattering. She closed her eyes tightly when she heard the footsteps work their way around to the front of her. If she could help it, she'd rather not even look at them. 

"You're _that_ scared of a little lashing, Mudblood?" she heard, with horror, Draco's voice ask, "You're shaking like a bloody leaf!" 

She opened her eyes and looked at him with shock. "You're doing the lashing?!" 

"Of course! Do you think I'd trust anyone else with my personal slave?" He mouthed the last two words seductively, then laughed when she blushed. He seemed very amused that he could make her turn red so easily, and even more delighted that he could play with her feelings without ever revealing his own. "I guess my supposed 'plan' that you thought up worked then." 

"What do you mean?" she asked with narrowed eyes. 

"I made you fall in love with me! You poor, pathetic little Mudblood! However will you cope with falling for the most powerful, handsome, rich wizard in the country?" 

Hermione forced herself to laugh. "Now _that_ is funny. I couldn't even imagine a pure witch falling for you, let alone a Mudblood that you've abused and ridiculed so enthusiastically." 

"Say what you want, but I know the truth. I can see right through you, right through those big wet eyes of yours, which happen to get so glossy and bright when I walk into the room." 

"Funny, I had always thought they slammed shut when you walk into the room, to avoid looking at your pasty face!" Hermione yelled at him. She was getting madder by the second. Deep down, she wondered if she was so mad because he might be right. 

"Well, putting aside your romantic delusions of me, I think we need to get down to business." He disappeared into the darkness and reemerged with a huge stick that was covered in thorns. "This is the lashing stick we use on the very bad servants. Unfortunately, I can't use it on you." 

"Because I'm not bad?" 

He looked at her very slyly. "No, because a hundred lashings with this would kill you. You'd bleed to death before I could get to fifty, especially since you're such a fragile little thing." He reached up and ran a hand gently through her hair, his cold hand brushing against her neck and shoulder, causing her to shiver almost violently. 

He stared at her for a moment, with an unreadable expression, then abruptly walked away. He came back with a smaller stick that had no thorns. "This is what I'll be using on you." 

Hermione sighed. She could handle that. She'd had worse beatings on the streets, from the angry merchant or from wizards or witches who just enjoyed dragging her out of her cell to rough her up or spit on her. The only thing she was worried about was the emotional beating she'd endure tonight. Draco was taking full advantage of the fact that she was attracted to him. He'd come to the cell in nothing but very loose-fitting black pants that were nearly falling off his body. His hair was purposely in his eyes, and he made a habit of running his hand through it and letting it fall right back in his face. He may have been beautiful to Hermione, but she was beginning to despise his mind and heart. 

He gave her the sexiest smile he could force onto his face and walked around behind her. "Let's get started then," was the last thing she heard before the sound of the lashing stick smacking hard into the flesh of her back. She grunted, refusing to cry out. She wouldn't allow herself that. He lashed her again, and then again, and then yet again. After about twenty or so, she finally yelled. The stick was beginning to hit directly into previous hit spots, ripping the clumped blood from the wounds and tearing them open again. 

Eventually she was screaming with every hit, and after forty, her legs gave out and she collapsed. She had thought the chains would hold her up, but they dropped enough so that her knees were slightly bent and her feet dragged the floor. 

Draco stepped around and bent down to face her. "You've broken already? After only forty?" 

"What… do you mean?" she muttered, panting. 

"These shackles are rigged. They hold you in place until you physically give out, and the entire weight of your body pulling on them at one time triggers them to drop you a foot. It's how we determine a servant's breaking point." Draco looked sickeningly smug. 

"So then… it's over?" she asked, looking up. 

Draco laughed breezily. "No, you were sentenced to a hundred, not forty." 

Hermione's face fell, and the pain and frustration of the situation took their toll as she groaned loudly. 

Draco leaned in very close, and whispered to her "If you want, I could switch to lashing you in the front. Maybe we could avoid ripping your back to hell that way." 

Hermione glared up at him furiously, making her answer clear. 

Draco grinned. "All right then." And he resumed lashing her back. 

After a good half hour, the hundredth lash came, but by that time Hermione had stopped screaming and was near unconscious. Draco roused her by walking around to the front and lifting her face up. "All done!" he said in an eerily cheerful tone. 

Hermione snapped to attention. "You mean it's over?" 

He nodded. He pulled the lever on the wall that made the chains lift her back up. He walked around behind her again and inspected her back. It was a bloody, mangled mess. He traced the wounds with his eyes, examining how the dark, matted blood contrasted so sharply with her creamy skin, and how the opened flesh was pinkish and raw. He carefully pressed an icy fingertip against one of the larger wounds, and ran it slowly down the length of the cut. 

Hermione gasped at the feeling, and struggled against the shackles to edge away from his touch. 

"Does that hurt?" he asked, and she noticed that he seemed sincerely curious. 

"Yes! Very much! Do I at least get bandages?" 

He ignored her question and touched another laceration, rubbing it in the same way. She let out a tiny cry of pain and struggled again to scoot away. "Stop it!" she screamed. 

He stared at her back for minutes longer, as if he'd never seen real injuries before. Then, suddenly, he lunged forward and embraced her from behind, pressing his bare chest against her back and wrapping his arms around her stomach. 

Hermione cried out, the freezing cold feeling of his skin on her raw wounds sent shocks of pain up and down her spine. "What are you doing?! Let me go! You're… aggravating the wounds!" She struggled for a moment before realizing that it only hurt worse to do so, and then went still. 

He leaned his head around to her right side, so that he could look her in the face. He reached up with his right hand and tilted her head to face him. "I'll have the healers take care of your back in the morning," he whispered, "and they'll erase these ugly scars." 

She looked at him in amazement. "I'll be healed tomorrow? So the punishment was only to last one night?" 

"I decided on this just now. Your back is so hideously marred, I'd throw up every time I saw it if I didn't allow them to fix it," he told her coldly. His left hand snaked up her stomach to land on her left breast. He groped the flesh almost gently, never taking his eyes from hers. He watched her cheeks turn rosy again. 

"S-stop," she said loudly, though without much force. She was getting weak from the blood loss. 

With only his left hand he unhooked her bra and it dropped to the ground. He then resumed his groping, and shortly switched over to the right breast. Hermione jerked her body, trying to shake him off her, but all that did was send searing pain up her back. "I said stop!" she yelled, this time more forcefully. The situation was getting out of control. 

Draco watched her face carefully, as if he were trying to read her mind. Then said smoothly, "Exactly who is the master and who is the slave here?" 

"Who is the pure-blooded wizard and who is the tainted Mudblood?" she asked, hoping against hope that it would scare him into stopping. 

It didn't. He smiled strangely, almost a genuine smile, or as close to one as she could imagine from him. He moved his hand down and squeezed it between her legs, rubbing her body through the fabric of her panties. 

This caused her to panic, and she kicked and jerked wildly, screaming for help in the hopes that the seemingly compassionate servant would do something. No one came. No one could help her. And when she felt his hand slip into her panties, she let out a horrified scream that pierced the silent hallways of the mansion. 

Draco was still holding her face to his, and still watching her, though his smile was gone. Instead, he looked far more serious. Now probing her body with his fingers, he gave her a dark look. "The more you scream, and the more you struggle, the more you hurt yourself." 

Hermione tried to shake her head, but he was holding her face tightly. She screamed again, then panted as she regained her senses. "Please…" she whispered, so lightly that he could barely hear her, "beat me with the thorned stick until I die, boil me alive with that curse, stab me through the heart, before you rape me again." 

"Why? Why is it so horrible _this_ time?" he asked with a frown. 

She looked at him with tear-filled eyes, "Because this time…" She trailed off, feeling him tear the panties from her body. 

"What is it?! Why are you fighting now when you accepted it before?!" 

"Because this time it's different!" she cried, "The situation is different!" 

"What's different about it?!" 

She wanted to scream out "My feelings are different!" but she couldn't force the words out. And even if she did, Draco would try to make her explain herself. And how could she when she didn't even understand herself? What did she feel for Draco? Surely she hated him, but why did she find herself more and more devastated when he showed less and less regard for her feelings? 

Her strength, and her will, weakening, she closed her eyes and sobbed. Draco cursed under his breath and withdrew himself from her. He released her arms from the shackles and she fell to her knees. "I'm satisfied with the punishment," he said simply, and walked to the door. 

Hermione sat on the floor, her arms crossed over her chest. She couldn't stop the tears from coming down her face. "Draco," she said hoarsely, and when he turned around she asked "why did you stop?" 

He stared at her for what seemed like forever before he answered. "I told you it was a one-time affair. I won't touch you like that again." Then a grin crept over his face. "Unless you beg for it!" 

Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief. He was joking, wasn't he? He had to know that she would never come to him for such a thing. "I'd never-!" 

Before she could finish, Draco had walked out and slammed the door hard behind him, leaving Hermione very confused and very, very tired. 

Author's Note: This fic IS finished (15 chapters long) and I have submitted the last five chapters to Restrictedsection.org. I'm just waiting for them to add them. ^_^ 


	10. Chapter Ten

Draco stuffed his hands into the pockets of his robes and walked sullenly down the hall. His father had called him to his chambers to "have a talk with him", which could usually be translated to "give him a long-winded lecture". He was beginning to wonder why he still respected the man, or if he did at all. 

His father was sitting behind an old-fashioned yet elaborate desk. An oil lamp was on one end and a stack of parchment on the other. His hands were folded in his lap. "How are you this evening, Draco? Getting along will with the Mudblood?" 

Draco gave a nod for an answer. "What did you need to talk about?" he asked somewhat uneasily. 

"We will be having a dinner party this evening. Some very important people will be there. It will be a wonderful chance for you to mingle with more upper-class Wizards and Witches." 

Draco rolled his eyes. He detested his father's dinner parties. 

"You are no longer a child, Draco, and I now expect you not to behave as one." 

"All right. I'll have my best robes prepared and be in the dining hall this evening for your party," Draco replied almost mechanically. 

His father's eyes softened a tad. "I've begun to worry about you, son. You're eighteen years old and you never go out of the house. What few relationships you've had with girls have lasted less than a week." 

Draco began to shift from one foot to the other, obviously not liking where the conversation was going. "I'm aware of how old I am, father. And I'm also aware that I'm somewhat… picky… as to who I choose to form relationships with, but I can't force myself to care for people when I don't." 

Lucius sighed and nodded. "Just try to be more sociable tonight," he told him before waving him out. 

Draco stalked down the hallway far more irritated than before. Who was his father to try and dictate his relationships? It was none of his business! Eyes downcast, Draco continued to walk toward his room until he collided with something, or rather, someone. He fell back onto the ground, cursing loudly and rubbing the back of his head. "What the hell?!" he yelled, looking forward and seeing a pair of white-sock covered feet right in his face. 

Suddenly the feet wiggled away and the owner of them sat up. It was Hermione! Both of them shared a gasp as they realized just who they had ran into. "Why in bloody hell are you running around in the hall?!" he screamed, standing up. 

"You may be able to get away with using me for whatever you want, but your servants won't!" she cried back, casting a quick glance behind her. 

Two large male servants burst through the door to the stair well and headed toward her, only to stop dead in their tracks at the sight of Draco. 

Draco stared at them curiously, then stepped around between them and Hermione. "Just what is going on here?" 

"They attacked me!" Hermione yelled out, pointing at them furiously. 

In response the two servants dropped the wooden staffs they'd been carrying and bowed regretfully. Draco glared at them. "Explain yourselves!" he commanded. 

"We were not aware that she was your personal slave," one of them said in a shaking voice. 

"He's lying! I told him who I was!" Hermione screeched from behind Draco. She looked like she was verging on hysteria. Clearly she had not expected the attack and was shaken up considerably. 

"Forgive us, Mr. Malfoy, but we did not believe her." 

The other servant chimed in, "We thought she was a new servant. We thought we would… scare her." 

"Only scare her?" Draco asked, glancing back at Hermione in the corner of his eye. Her brown robe, that she had been so protective of, was ripped all the way down the front. Luckily for her, the bra was still intact. 

"Yes, that's all we intended!" one of them cried desperately. 

"Her robe ripped when she ran away, I still had hold of it when she broke free!" the other said. 

Draco turned his head to Hermione. "Is this true?" 

"Of course not! They ripped it themselves!" 

Draco turned back to the terrified servants. "This is uncalled for. Laying your dirty hands on _my_ personal slave is punishable by death!" 

"The Mudblood is lying, sir!" one of them screamed. 

"How could you believe a Muggle-born over us, who have at least half pure lineage?!" 

Draco had never looked so furious. In a moment he was before them and had kicked them both so violently that they were huddled on the ground, blood coming from their mouths. "You will be disposed of before the sun sets this evening," he told them icily. 

He walked back over to a stunned Hermione and held out his hand. She took it slowly and he pulled her to her feet. "I apologize for their actions. Trust that it won't happen again." 

She blinked, wondering what had come over him. "Thank you," she said with unease, "but… you don't have to kill them. I'm sure they've learned their lesson." 

He immediately released her hand and stepped away. "I believe I can deal with my own servants. You just concentrate on being a good slave." 

She frowned at him as he walked away. "Aren't you going to put me back in my cell? Or do slaves normally wander the halls freely?" 

He turned around again. "You're so eager to go back?" 

"Just trying to be a good slave," she said with a tiny smile. 

Draco smiled back, and it seemed almost genuine again, as it had that day in the dungeon. "Actually, it may be best to assign you another room." 

"Why?" 

"In the basement, it may be easy for you to be confused as a servant. I'll give you a room upstairs, near the attic. You'll still be guarded, but you won't be in contact with as many servants. How does that sound?" 

Hermione nodded. "I suppose so." 

Draco called for some servants and gave them instructions for preparing a new room for Hermione. They dashed away in a flurry, as he told them to have it ready within the hour. During the wait, he casually mentioned the dinner party to Hermione. 

"I've never even seen a dinner party before," she said wistfully. 

"From your room upstairs, you could probably walk a few steps to the inner balcony and see the whole thing, if you wanted." 

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Really?! But… why are you telling me this?" 

Draco shrugged. "Trying to make conversation I guess. This has to be the longest hour I've ever lived through." He looked up at a clock on the wall. "Time's up. They better have the room ready." 

As if on cue, two servants appeared. "It's prepared," they said. 

"Good, take Hermione to her new room, and give her a new robe," Draco said quickly, and continued down the hall without another word. 

Later on that evening, the dinner party began and Draco walked down the stairs to the main hall, clad in his finest silk black robes. He politely nodded to his father's guests, shook hands with a few, and even kissed the cheeks of the most influential of Witches. 

Eventually he made his way to a window, where he sat on the cushioned window-seat and stared out at the moonlit grounds of the Malfoy estate, trying to forget the scene surrounding him. How he hated the crowds. 

Hermione had heard the commotion downstairs and had crept to the inner balcony that hung far, far above the heads of the guests. She squatted down and peered out between the wooden posts. She was amazed by all the glittering emerald robes and the beautiful jewels worn by the elite Witches. The long tables were covered in exquisite looking dishes, candles were lit everywhere and suspended in mid air. Servants rushed around silently, offering drinks and treats to the guests. Wizards chuckled and clinked their glasses. It was a scene that most Mudbloods would never live to see. 

Her eyes darted around, trying to point out Draco in the vast crowd. Finally she found him, sitting by the window and looking utterly depressed. The look on his face was so… sad. Hermione continued to stare at him. She watched as the guests walked back and forth by him, and how he never even shifted his gaze. Something seemed very wrong. 

Suddenly it hit her. In a room full of people, Draco was completely alone. Of all the Wizards and Witches in the dining hall, none of them seemed to even notice him. But how could that be? He was rich, handsome, and powerful. Why did he distance himself from them? Why was he so lonely? 

Finally he looked up and his eyes landed right upon her. Her first instinct was to duck and try to hide, but she froze. The strange smile he wore told her that he expected her to be there. He held her gaze for a long time, until one of the servants approached and offered him a drink. He took one, and after the servant had walked away, he held it up as if he were toasting to her. After a moment he drank, and handed the empty glass to the next servant that walked past. 

Throughout the rest of the evening, he would look up at her every now and then, assumingly to see if she were still there. Hermione wondered why he did so for a while, until an idea came to her. Was it possible that he told her how to watch the dinner party, and even switched her rooms, for this purpose? Was he comforted by the fact that she was there? Perhaps he didn't feel quite so alone if he knew he could look up and see a warm, familiar face staring back at him. 

She knew he would never admit that, but entertaining the idea of it made her feel good inside, somehow. It felt as if she were special, as if she were the star of the party, even if she wasn't even there, and even if only one person could see her. 

And the night wore on, and even though Draco and Hermione were three floors apart and no one else even noticed they were there, neither of them felt alone. 

Notes: Sorry for the delay. Personal issues. 


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione blinked curiously at the servant as she attached a pair of cuffs to her hands. The servant was a very small-framed girl who looked as if a fairly strong breeze could knock her over, and she was alone. That explained the cuffs. Perhaps Draco thought Hermione could too easily overpower the servant, and didn't want to risk an escape attempt. So Hermione made no objection as the tiny woman led her down the steps from the attic and to a musky-smelling room at the end of the hall. 

It was the laundry room, as far as Hermione could tell, with piles of clothing in all corners. Some were crumpled and obviously dirty, while others were laying strung across the floor, apparently waiting to be folded. The servant pointed to a huge pile. "Those are Draco's robes. He wants you to fold them very neatly and take them to his room." 

Hermione nodded and sat down on the floor to begin her work. She wondered why such a silly task would be given to her, but decided that it wasn't worth her time think about. 

After about an hour, Hermione began to feel tired. The work was easy, but very time-consuming and extremely boring. The pile looked gigantic and she thought she would never finish. Surely there was some sort of spell that would fold the laundry with speed and care. But she had no wand, and no idea how to do magic. 

She remembered a time, years ago, when she had been pulled out of her cage on the street by a snooty Witch who planned to make a sport of seeing how many rocks she could send flying at Hermione's head. After the second blow, Hermione had become furious and suddenly the rocks began flying back toward the Witch. Hermione had no idea how she had done it, but she supposed that her dormant magical abilities had manifested themselves out of sheer rage. 

Now she sat, staring at the pile of laundry with the most desperate concentration she could muster. If she wanted to finish before the end of the week, she would have to have a little help. She didn't want to spend day after day folding Draco's laundry. 

After ten minutes of migraine-inducing concentration, an article of clothing lifted slowly into the air and began to fold itself somewhat awkwardly. Within the next half hour, ten to twelve pieces at a time were folding themselves perfectly and stacking themselves in the corner. 

Hermione stood amidst them, focusing all of her energy on the magic she was somehow creating. It was the first time in her life that she had used magic by will. She began to wonder if she could use it for other things too. If Draco ever made another attempt on her again, she would find out. But that would be a last resort. On the rare occasion that a Mudblood was seen using magic, they were tortured mercilessly before put to death. It was a terrible risk, and Hermione kept a constant eye on the heavily locked door, ready to drop the clothes at a moment's notice. 

Another half hour and all the clothes were finished. Hermione smiled to herself, feeling strong and powerful now that her first attempt at magic had been successful, even without a wand. She began carrying the clothes, small stacks at a time, to Draco's room down the hall. He was not in his room, so the task was smooth and uneventful. She was happy for that too. 

Finally she waved to the nearest watchful servant and signaled that she was ready to return to her room. She climbed the steps back to the attic and flopped down on her small (yet better than a cot) bed. There were three different rooms in the attic. One was hers, and the other two were locked tightly, and probably charmed as well. She supposed they were storage rooms, but a light coming from one of the doors caught her attention and made her wonder. 

She got up from her bed and crept across the narrow hall to the door. It was open, just a crack, and light was seeping into the dark, dank hallway. She carefully peered in, dying to quench her curiosity. What she saw was what she least expected. 

The room was obviously not a storage room. The walls were bright red, candles were lit everywhere, and a huge bed sat in the center of the room. In the bed was Draco, with someone else that Hermione didn't recognize. It was a beautiful young Witch, probably around seventeen, with long blonde hair. 

The Witch was positioned on her knees, her arms were bound to some sort of shackles that hung from the ceiling. Draco was behind her, making love to her and moving his hands all about her body. Hermione instinctively thought that Draco was raping her, but upon seeing the girl's expression of rapture, she knew that this was not the case. 

Hermione wanted to turn away, to go straight back to her room, close the door, and pretend she never saw a thing. But she couldn't. For some reason she couldn't stop watching. Draco looked like some sort of angel that had descended from heaven, and the Witch looked as if she was _in_ heaven. 

Hermione found herself wishing she were that Witch, wishing that they could trade places for an instant, but upon realizing what she was thinking, she pulled herself away from the door. How could she think something like that? Draco was a cruel bastard who used her for what he wanted and then tossed her aside. She convinced herself that she didn't want him. 

Still yet, she wanted to see what happened next, so she crept back over to the door and peeked in. She felt dirty and ashamed, but she couldn't help herself. She had never seen people actually making love before. Her first experience in the whole business had been the night Draco had raped her. 

Suddenly Draco's eyes shifted and landed right upon the crack in the door, where Hermione's red-flushed face was staring in. She gasped almost silently and dashed to her room. She closed the door and thrust herself into the bed. She laid facing the wall. What could she do? Draco had seen her watching them! How embarrassing! 

Minutes passed and finally Hermione heard footsteps down the hall of the attic. They were soft and delicate, undoubtedly those of the Witch. Then more footsteps came across the hall, and stopped at her door. She knew it was Draco, and silently prayed into her pillow that he wouldn't come in. She couldn't face him now! 

Sure enough, the door opened and Draco walked in. He stood over her bed for a moment before saying "I know you're awake." 

She ignored him. Maybe he would just go away. 

He sat down on the edge of her bed. "I know you saw us." 

She kept still, trying to not even breath. She didn't want to talk about it. Why couldn't he just pretend it didn't happen? Did he have no shame at all? 

"How did you finish the laundry so quickly? I thought it'd take you all day." 

She rolled over suddenly. "So that's why you gave me that awful job?! To distract me while you used the attic for your illicit affairs?!" 

Draco looked down at her unsmiling. "When I gave you this room, I forgot that the room across the hall was the one I had fixed up for…" he paused, trying to find the right phrase for it. 

"For your sexual romps with the local Witches?" Hermione asked cynically. 

"It's not something that happens often. In fact… it had been quite a while since the last time," he said uneasily. His face had a very slight pink tint to it, surprising Hermione that someone like him could actually blush. 

"Well, it certainly seemed like you knew what you were doing," Hermione said without thinking, then quickly rolled back over to face the wall. 

Draco smiled slightly behind her. "Aren't you going to ask me who she was?" 

"Why would I? Your personal relations are none of my business." 

"She's the daughter of one of my father's friends," he answered anyway, "I normally don't socialize much with them, but every now and then I get the urge, you know?" 

Hermione was blushing furiously against her pillow. "None of my business," she repeated. 

She felt him shift on the bed and she became tense. Surely he wouldn't try something on her right after that scene in the other room! She felt his hand land lightly on her shoulder. He leaned in, his face so close that his lips nearly brushed her ear as he spoke. "Don't you ever get the urge?" he whispered. 

Hermione shuddered and scooted closer to the wall. Draco leaned closer still. "It turned you on, didn't it? Watching us. You know, all you have to do is ask, and I'll take you into that room. No one will ever know, as long as you keep your damn mouth shut this time." 

Hermione reached behind her and shoved his face away. "I'm not yet desperate enough to beg you for sex," she said acidly. 

Draco laughed, standing up. "As you could see from the gorgeous blonde who just left my bed with a grin on her face, neither am I. I'll leave you to your… well, I'll leave you to whatever the hell it is you do up here all day." 

Hermione refused to face him. She heard him walk out, shutting the door behind him. She listened as he walked down the stairs. She breathed a sigh of relief and rolled over in bed. What a horrible day it had been. She wondered if she'd ever recover from such a shocking sight. 

Even worse was the fact that she couldn't get the images out of her mind. Draco was a creep, but he was a sexy creep, and despite her best efforts she couldn't deny this. But why had he gone to so much trouble to keep her from being in the attic today? Why didn't he want her to see him with the blonde? She found it more logical for him to want her to see, so that he could further gloat and brag on himself. Or maybe he had some other trick up his sleeve, one that she couldn't foresee. 

Regardless of his plans, Hermione told herself that she wouldn't cave in to him. She would find a way to escape and forget all about him. But even as she made these plans, she knew, somewhere in the catacombs of her heart, that forgetting Draco Malfoy would be a very difficult task. 


	12. Chapter 12

Hermione awoke the next morning to the sounds of frantic servants rushing about the house, their hurried footsteps making quite the noise on the stairs and along the corridors. She rubbed her eyes and sat up in bed. She reached for her brown robe and went to her door. She opened it a crack and peeped out. Amazingly, there were no servants outside her door, waiting to take her for her bath. 

She watched until a servant eventually went by. Hermione called out to her and asked her what was going on downstairs. It was the tiny girl from the day before. She looked somewhat horrified, as if she expected Hermione to try to escape while she was the only servant near the attic. Finally she said "Mrs. Malfoy has a sudden fever! We're looking for a spell to heal her!" and was gone in an instant. 

Hermione wondered what all the fuss was about. To her knowledge, fevers were not _that_ serious, and it should be fairly easy to find a spell for such things. In fact, she was surprised that they didn't already know one for such a common problem. She decided it was probably the way rich people were. 

She watched the attic hall for a long time. No servants. No Malfoys. It would be a perfect opportunity to do a little exploring. After all, with everyone busy and so many servants rushing about, who would even notice her? 

She opened the door quietly and took one step out into the hall. She was nervous, but she also felt exhilarated. She'd never snuck around in a mansion like this before. She'd never had the freedom to wander around anywhere. It was a new sensation for her, and she loved it. 

She noticed that the door across the hall, Draco's "love room" had the light on again. Her mind told her to ignore it, she really didn't need to have a repeat of yesterday's misfortune. But suddenly she heard voices. Two male voices, in conversation. She stood next to the door, not daring to look in, lest Draco catch sight of her again. Instead, she listened as best she could. 

"You really should go down to her, Mr. Malfoy," an unfamiliar voice said. 

"I will, when she's better," she heard Draco reply. 

"But… what if, dare I say it, she doesn't get better?" 

Draco's voice rose. "She will get better! She always has before!" 

The other voice became shaky. "Yes, but… the illness has gotten worse with time. It's becoming harder and harder to suppress the disease. Mr. Malfoy, I know you're fond of your mother, but you should be aware of… the possibilities. Your father is prepared for the worst. He really wishes you would come down and see your mother." 

Draco was silent for a long time before he responded. "I just… I just can't look at her when she has one of her fevers. I know it's selfish, but I can't do it. Go and tell my father that I'll be down a bit later. I'll explain it to him myself." 

"As you wish, Mr. Malfoy," the other voice said, and Hermione scurried to her room when she heard his footsteps head for the door. After she heard him walk down the stairs and out of the attic, she crept back across the hall. Draco had sounded like a completely different person, and she had to know if he looked different as well. 

She peered into the room, being extremely cautious and ready to leap back out of sight if Draco so much as twitched his head. Draco was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. The walls no longer looked bright scarlet, but were a very muted shade of red. Gone were the shackles hanging from the celing and the satin bed coverings. It looked like a normal room now. Perhaps he'd charmed it the day before. 

He looked so very miserable. She'd never seen him looking quite so hopeless. She was suddenly overcome by the urge to go and put her hands on his shoulders, to give him support and assurance. But he would laugh at her. He would mock her and send her back to her room. She knew it, so she remained where she was. 

She watched him for many minutes before he looked up sharply. She had been so preoccupied with watching him that she'd let her guard down. She tried to duck out of sight, but it was too late. He'd seen her. She was rushing to her room and she felt him grab her by the arm and whirl her around. "What are you doing out of your room?" he asked harshly. 

Hermione thought for a moment, trying to come up with a good excuse. "The noise woke me up, I just wanted to find out what was going on." 

Draco dragged her back into his room and slammed the door shut behind them. "You were watching me again," he said. 

"I didn't mean to. I heard voices, I only wanted to see what was the matter." 

He sat down on the bed with a sigh. "It doesn't matter. I'm not going to punish you for stepping across the hall. It's not like you went wandering around the house." 

Hermione bit her lip, recalling her earlier plans to do just that. Good thing she didn't. She hadn't been aware of how serious the situation was. She shifted from one foot to the other. She didn't know what to say. Would it be in poor taste to mention his mother? Would it be in poor taste not too, since he knew she had heard the conversation? She didn't have to wonder much longer. 

"You've met my mother, haven't you?" Draco asked casually. 

"Yes, the night you tried the counter-curse for the boiling spell," she answered uneasily, vivid memories of her night in his bed flashing through her mind. 

"Yes, that was it. She seems like a cold person, doesn't she? I mean, she doesn't seem like a motherly type, right?" 

Hermione didn't know how to answer that. She just nodded, hoping it would be an acceptable response. 

Apparently it was. "She seems that way to most people, myself included. She was never very affectionate, and I can't remember her talking to me much, even when I was a child. But… she would often do things to let me know that there was more to her than an icy exterior. Little things that most people don't even pick up on. You know what I mean?" He looked up at her. 

"I suppose so. I barely remember my parents." 

Draco looked back down at the floor. "Oh, that's right. Your parents were Muggles." He looked back up at her. "Once, when I was very young, my father bought me a very rare, very expensive owl. I loved that owl. It was my first pet, the first creature I felt I had a connection to. A few weeks later, it died of some unknown illness. I was devastated. I cried for days. My father told me I was weak and that I needed to get over it. But I couldn't. A few days later, I came home to find an identical owl in a cage on my bed. My mother had tracked down another one for me. That's the kind of thing I'm talking about. That's how I knew she cared for me." 

Hermione thought that she should be smiling at the sentimentality of his story, but she couldn't bring herself to do so. Something about his voice was so very sad. "What's wrong with her?" Hermione asked without thinking. She immediately put a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry." 

Draco smiled faintly, an eerie, fake sort of smile. "My mother has an incurable disease. We don't even know what it is, but she developed it five years ago. Since then, she goes through sudden phases of weakness and fever. Sometimes it lasts only a day, sometimes up to a week. Here lately, the phases have been more frequent and more dangerous. The symptoms are becoming resistant to spells." 

"I'm sorry, I really am," she said gently, placing a hand delicately on his shoulder. 

He looked at her hand sharply, then back at her face. He seemed to be resisting the urge to swat it away. "I believe you, but I can't understand why. It's because of people like us that your parents are dead." 

Hermione knelt down in front of him. "That's true. And I'll probably never wholly forgive your people for what they've done to me, but I can't dwell on that forever." 

Draco stared at her, as if he were just now seeing her for the first time. Perhaps he'd never encountered someone who was understanding and sympathetic. Perhaps he didn't comprehend how she could show him kindness. Whatever it was, he seemed to be distracted from his present dilemma. 

Suddenly he seemed to remember what as going on, and he stood up quickly. "I need to go talk to my father. You should be in your room." 

Hermione nodded and walked back across the hall. She closed the door behind her and sat down on her own bed. She couldn't believe that she and Draco had actually had a civilized conversation. It seemed as if they had connected somehow. She hadn't realized that he was living with the constant fear of losing the one person in his life that he loved. How horrible that must be. 

That was a different Draco in there today. It was a softer, kinder Draco, one that she had only gotten a glimpse of the night of the party. If only he could be like that all the time, she could easily fall in love with him. Who was she kidding? She was already falling in love with him! It was time she stopped lying to herself and trying to avoid the truth. Twisted as it was, she had fallen in love with her owner. It was no longer a question of whether or not. The question now present to her was "What do I do about it?" 


	13. Chapter 13

Hermione hadn't seen Draco in days, but the noise in the mansion had died down, leading her to believe that they had suppressed his mother's disease yet again. Everything was becoming calm and peaceful, and she was getting used to doing nothing. The servants came in, bathed her, and returned her to her room. That was what her days consisted of. 

She had already explored the area of her room, which wasn't all that much. There was a small bed against the wall, a dusty full-length mirror in the corner, and a wooden table with one chair. The floor was made of wood, and there were a couple of spots that she avoided walking on, for the wood felt weak there. The ceiling was somewhat high, like the rest of the house, and made of wood. There was one tiny window, so small that she would have a hard time crawling through it, especially now that she had developed a bit of meat on her bones from having regular meals. 

Her brown robe was tattered, looking old already. She stood before the mirror, inspecting it. She remembered the Witches at the party that night, and the beautiful green robes they wore. How she would love to see herself in green, just once. 

She stared at her robe until her eyes hurt. She wondered if there was a spell to change colors, and if she would be able to do it with enough concentration and will power. She took a reflexive look at the door. For over a week now, no one had come into her room after her initial bath in the mornings. She was fairly safe. 

She sat down on the floor in front of the mirror and placed her head in her hands. She concentrated very hard on the color green, and the image of the Witches wearing their fancy robes. She did this for hours, not even noticing when the sun went down and the candles automatically lit. 

Finally, she felt a jolt go through her body, as if she had been shaken very hard for an instant. She stood up and looked around, wondering if someone had come into the room without her knowing. When she finally caught sight of the mirror, she realized the jolt had not come from an outside source, but from within her. 

There she stood, in a stunning emerald robe. It almost glittered in its brightness. It hung all the way to the floor, dragging behind her elegantly. It was unfastened at the top and draped down around her shoulders, looking positively breathtaking. Her hair was suddenly shiny and the curls more subtle and tame. Her skin looked flawlessly white. Somehow, she had not only changed her robe, but her whole appearance. She couldn't even believe how beautiful she was, and she reached out to touch the mirror to make sure it was indeed her own reflection she was looking at. 

She whirled around, the green robe flowing around her. She giggled as she danced about the room, feeling as if she were a princess. All she needed was a crown! As if by command, a silver tiara appeared across her forehead, a diamond dangling between her eyes. She ran over to the mirror and gasped. She had never owned a piece of jewelry in her life. It was the most wonderful moment of her life. 

So overcome with joy, her eyes became watery. She reached up to dry them, not wanting to ruin her newfound beauty with a tear-stained face. Thankfully, no such thing happened. She still looked as gorgeous as before. She playfully bowed and practiced other formal poses she'd seen some of the elite Witches do. 

Suddenly the door to her room swung open. She whirled around in horror, her mind racing to form a spell that would undo everything, but her mind had become clouded with fear. She couldn't think of anything. Draco stood in the doorway, eyes wide in shock, staring at her. 

She looked at him guiltily, already beginning to tremble. This was horrible. She would surely be tortured and killed within the week. Was it worth it? For a moment of sheer bliss, was it worth her life? She didn't know what to say to Draco. How could she explain herself? There was no excuse. She was using magic, and there was no way to cover it up. 

Draco, after recovering from the initial shock, realized that the woman standing in front of him was more beautiful than anything he could have ever imagined in his wildest dreams. She was more than a woman. She was an angel. Then he reminded himself that she was still a Mudblood. A Mudblood who was using magic, somehow. He narrowed his eyes. "Were you not told that magic is forbidden for Mudbloods?" he asked coldly. 

Hermione's eyes were becoming so full of tears that they overflowed. "I was told," she whispered, looking down. This was the end. Her life was over. 

"How did you do it?" 

She looked back up. "I just… concentrate, and form my own spells in my mind," she answered. 

"That's highly illegal. You do know what the penalty is, don't you?" 

"Death," she replied, her voice breaking on the word. 

"Torture, then death. And not the kind of torture you're thinking of either. They don't beat you with whips and put salt in your wounds. They do things you can't even imagine. Things I can hardly imagine, and I'm a practicing sadist!" 

Hermione shuddered instinctively. Why was he telling her this? She didn't want to know what would happen to her. She didn't want to have to dread it. Maybe she could come up with a spell to kill herself? She would definitely give it a shot. Anything would be better than torture. 

Draco sat down on the edge of her bed, looking frustrated. "I thought you were half-way intelligent. You're a moron! Doing magic in this house?! Are you insane?!" 

Hermione covered her face in her hands, beginning to sob. "I don't know! I don't know why I did it! I just… I just wanted to look like them… just once…" 

"All this because you wanted to wear a bloody green robe?! If you were that desperate you should've told me! I'd have snuck one of my mum's up here and let you try the damn thing on! Good Lord! You've just signed your death warrant!" 

Hermione's knees could no longer support her. She crumbled to the ground, still sobbing. The robe fell further down her shoulders, one breast nearly exposed. She didn't seem to notice. Draco stared at her, telling himself that he didn't feel sorry for her. She was stupid enough to use magic, so she didn't deserve his pity. 

Hermione looked up suddenly. "You don't have to tell!" she cried. 

Draco looked at her in disbelief. "What?" 

"Don't tell! No one will know! Please, just pretend it didn't happen!" 

"I can't do that! If anyone ever finds out, I'd get the same punishment you'll get! I can't take that kind of risk!" 

Hermione crawled over to him and clutched at the fabric of his robes. "Please! I promise I'll never tell that you kept it secret, even if someone else turns me in! I'll never use magic again, I swear! Please, Draco!" 

Draco turned away from her. She looked like some sort of puppy, staring at him with huge, wet eyes. "I can't risk it. I've seen what they do to people like that. They could hardly be considered human by the time they're finished! And that's _before_ they die! I'm not about to take that chance!" 

Hermione buried her face in his lap. "Please," she muttered, "I'll do anything… anything you ask…" 

"You already do anything I ask," he said, "you're my slave." 

"You… you said you would never touch me unless I asked for it. I'll ask for it! I'll do anything, just don't tell!" 

Draco frowned. "That's not what I meant. I meant I'd never touch you unless you _wanted_ it. This doesn't count." 

"Please!" she screamed, looking up. 

Draco thought for a moment, staring at her. "Give me one good reason," he finally said, "why I should risk my life for you." 

Hermione's eyes widened. What reason could she possibly give him? He didn't care about her. She was a slave, nothing more. But she had to try. "I… I'm in love with you!" 

Draco twitched, scooting backwards on the bed and nearly shoving her away. "Don't toy with me! I'll have them string you up in the courtyard for torture tomorrow!" 

"What are you talking about?! I'm not toying with you! I'm in love with you!" 

"You're lying! You said you'd do anything to save your life!" 

Hermione stood up. "I'm telling the truth. The reason I wanted to wear a green robe just once… was because that blonde girl the other day… she had a green robe. All the girls you look at wear green robes. I just wanted to see… how I would look in one." 

Draco was against the wall by now, staring at her with narrowed eyes. He wanted to say "You look bloody gorgeous in it!" but he couldn't form the words in his mouth. He still couldn't believe it. "Why?" he asked. 

"Why… do I love you?" she asked uneasily, finally beginning to blush. 

He nodded. 

"I don't know. I've been trying to figure it out myself. You've been so cruel to me. But somehow… when I look at you, I don't see a sadistic little rich boy anymore. I see a sad, desperate man, someone who suffers everyday, just like me. I didn't know rich people could be like me." 

"I'm nothing like you," he said. 

"Yes you are. You're trapped here, in a life you don't want. Just like me." 

"How would you know what I want?" he asked skeptically. 

"I can see it on your face. Please, Draco, you don't have to accept my feelings. Just don't tell anyone about the magic. That's all I ask!" 

He finally edged closer to her. He reached up a hand and touched her face. "I'm stupid for believing you, but I'll refrain from telling. At least for now. But if I ever catch you using magic again, or if you ever give me problems again, I'll go straight to my father and tell him about your magic." 

Hermione nodded, tearing up again. "Thank you! Thank you so much!" 

Draco allowed himself a tiny smile, then he grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her down into the bed. "You wanted to know how you look in a green robe, right?" 

Hermione looked at him nervously. "Right," she said with some hesitation. 

"To be honest, I think you'd put all the witches at our parties to shame. However, I'm more concerned with how you look _out_ of that green robe." He rolled over on top of her. 

"What… what are you doing?" she asked, her voice a mixture of worry and excitement. 

Draco grinned. "I'm going to make you prove that you love me." 


	14. Chapter 14

Since the night before, Draco had been unusually quiet. When he did happen to dart by Hermione's room, he gave little more than a nod or, if she was lucky, a wave. He seemed almost shy, though it felt highly out of character for him. Hermione wondered what he was thinking, and how he felt about her. He hadn't mentioned whether or not he even accepted her feelings at all. She was left feeling confused, and worried. 

She spent most of her time sitting around in her room, staring at the walls. She didn't dare to attempt magic again. What if it had been someone else to walk in on her the way Draco had? She would probably be dead. She knew it had been stupid of her, but she had learned from her mistake. She would be far more careful from now on. 

Around mid-afternoon, Draco sent for her to come to his room. She followed the servants down from the attic and through the hall, a path she was well familiar with by now. Draco greeted them at the door, expressionless. He looked like a porcelain doll, with large crystal eyes and ivory skin. Sometimes she wondered if he was really a human being at all. 

He sat down on his bed and stared at her. She stood uncomfortably in front of him. She wished those doll-like eyes would stop looking at her. Sometimes it felt like he could see right into her, all her secrets and all her feelings. Finally she broke the silence. "What did you need?" she asked. 

"I've been doing some thinking about our situation," he said, "If we're going to continue having sex, we need to take some necessary precautions." 

Hermione felt a bit stunned. She didn't expect him to be so blunt about it. "Oh… all right," she said, "is there a birth control spell?" 

Draco ran a hand through his hair. "I think so, but I'm not familiar with it. I'll have to look it up. But there are also other precautions to take. For example, you can't breathe a word of our… activities… to anyone. Absolutely no one can know about this. In the presence of my parents, we must behave as if I detest the thought of touching you." 

"Easy enough. You act that way most of the time anyway," Hermione replied. 

Draco frowned, but didn't argue. "I also want to make it clear that the master/slave relationship has not changed. If you break the rules, you'll still be punished. Don't think I won't hurt you just because I'm shagging you." 

Hermione nodded. "And don't think I'll respect you as a master just because I like you." 

Draco stared at her silently for a moment. Then said "However you want it to be." 

Hermione smiled. Draco seemed uneasy, and she found herself liking it. It was a refreshing feeling, as if the tides were very slowly changing. She wondered if one day he would fall in love with her and set her free. Perhaps in many years, though it was still doubtful. Regardless, she entertained herself with daydreams of such things. 

They were continuing their conversation when a scream rung out across the mansion. Draco and Hermione both looked sharply at the door, then to each other. "What was that?" Hermione asked. 

Draco shook his head. "No idea." 

The two of them walked slowly over to the door. Draco opened it up carefully and they peeked out into the hall. Seeing nothing, they headed toward the main hall. From the stairs, they could see Draco's father and a couple of servants standing over a small girl. 

The girl was very thin and very dirty. Her clothes were ragged and her hair was limp and matted to her head. "Who is that?" Hermione asked Draco. He shrugged in response. 

Draco's father kicked the girl hard, and she cried out again. "Filthy little thief! I can't believe the audacity of these Mudbloods!" 

"Mudblood?! Did they buy another slave?" Hermione whispered. 

"Not that I know of," Draco answered. 

One of the servants stepped forward and gave a kick of his own. "They get braver every day. I couldn't imagine stealing food from a wealthy Wizarding family's kitchen, even in the most desperate of situations." 

The girl trembled on the floor. "Please… I'm so… hungry…" 

The other servant spat on her. "How did she even escape from the cells?!" 

Hermione looked horrified. She tugged at Draco's sleeve. "Do something!" she hissed into his ear. 

He shoved her away. "Do what? Go against my father on behalf of a dirty little Mudblood?!" 

"They'll kill her!" 

"So what? She tried to rob us! As far as I'm concerned, she deserves whatever she gets!" 

Hermione looked at him as if he were a complete stranger. "I must be insane to think I could love someone like you." 

Draco turned away from her, just in time to see his father deliver another kick to the girl's rib cage. She coughed up blood on the carpet, earning her yet another kick. 

Hermione covered her eyes. "They're killing her. She was starving and now they're killing her for it!" 

Draco stood up. "Come on. Let's go back to my room." 

"You coward!" Hermione whispered furiously, "If you're going to sit back and let her die, at least have the guts to see first-hand what you're doing to her!" 

Draco growled and grabbed Hermione's arm. "If you're so hell-bent on saving her, do it yourself! Or do you have the courage?!" 

Hermione jerked her arm free. "All right then! I will!" she said loudly, then headed down the stairs. 

Draco's eyes went wide. "No, I wasn't serious! Hermione, they'll squash you like an insect!" 

But it was too late. Hermione had appeared at the bottom of the stairs and had focused all her energy and anger on making the girl disappear. Before anyone knew what had happened, the girl was gone, and Hermione could sense her outside the house, free to escape. 

Everyone looked at Hermione. Draco's father stepped forward. "What did you just do?" 

Hermione was speechless. She'd successfully helped the girl, but had left herself in a terrible dilemma. "I… I…" 

SMACK! Draco's father backhanded her. "Tell me what you did!" he screamed. 

"I don't know… I don't know what I did," she lied, hoping that fake ignorance would save her. 

She glanced at Draco, who was half-way down the stairs. He looked stunned, as if he were frozen. His mouth was slightly open, but he couldn't say a word. He couldn't think of anything to say. 

Draco's father hit her again, sending her crashing into the floor. "You used magic! You may be stupid, but magic is forbidden! There is a severe penalty!" 

"I didn't know it was magic, sir! I didn't mean to! I swear!" She didn't even flinch at the consecutive lies. She was too desperate. She was praying that Draco would step in for her defense. Surely she meant something to him. Surely he would help her. But no help came. 

"Take this girl out to the court yard and string her up by the beating posts. She'll receive her penalty tomorrow morning." 

Hermione looked frantically to Draco, her eyes wide and terrified. Draco just stood staring, as if the reality of the situation had begun to sink in yet. As his father passed him on the stairs, he put a hand roughly on his shoulder. "I'm very disappointed in you, Draco. I would've thought you'd have better control over your slave." 

Draco didn't even blink. He just stared at Hermione as she began to struggle and fight against the servants. More were called in immediately, and soon they had Hermione restrained. Even when she called out his name and cried for help, he still couldn't bring himself to move an inch. At one point she broke away from the servants and ran toward him. She crashed into him and they both fell into the stairs, her on top of him and her arms bound behind her back. She was crying loudly but he couldn't make out what she was saying. It felt as if something in his mind had shut off, and nothing made sense anymore. 

Finally the servants pried her away from him, and he sat watching the scene with a detached, emotionless expression. She looked him in the eyes as they dragged her outside, her own eyes speaking far more loudly and clearly than her words ever could. 

And when she was gone, he could still see those eyes, sad, frightened, and betrayed, burning into his. He could still hear her inaudible cries, and he could still feel her soft body against his. Her words "I'm in love with you!" echoed in his mind, and the memory of her opening up herself and allowing him inside her the night before haunted him. He had made a terrible mistake, and there was no way he could undo it now. So as the day faded into night, Draco sat on the stairs, staring into nothingness and being reminded just how much he hated his life. 


	15. Chapter 15

Draco stood in his room beside the window, the curtain pushed back so that he could see the front of the Malfoy estate. On the right side, between two posts, he could see Hermione hanging by her arms. Her cherished brown robe was gone, leaving only her plain underwear. There were some barely-visible marks on her skin (or at least barely visible from his window), but she looked otherwise all right. He expected her to be a bloody mess by now. 

He dropped the curtain and paced around a bit. He was very frustrated, especially at his inability to come up with a solution. If only he hadn't told her to save the girl herself. If only he had dragged her up the stairs, kicking and screaming, and locked her in his room. If only he had stopped her before she could reach the bottom of the stairs. 

But it was all said and done now. Hermione had done something extremely stupid, and she would die for it. He wondered what sort of punishment he'd receive for his lack of control over her. He'd probably be suspended from using magic for a month, or maybe locked in his room for a week. He didn't care about any of that. His punishment for allowing Hermione to die would be far worse. He'd never be able to forget it. She'd haunt him forever. 

The door to his room opened and he looked up. His father stood in the doorway, looking very displeased. "Come along, Draco. We're about to start." 

Draco blinked. "Start what?" 

"Torturing the Mudblood of course." 

"You mean it hasn't even started yet? I thought…" 

His father almost laughed. "That pathetic little beating this morning? That was practically a warm-up! You've been to a Mudblood execution before, Draco. You should know better." 

Draco stood perfectly still, letting everything sink in. He remembered the horrors he'd seen at executions. He remembered the blood, the screams, the bodies marred beyond recognition. He'd thrown up at the first one, only to be scolded by his father at his show of weakness. Since then, he'd learned to control himself. 

He tried to imagine Hermione, broken, torn apart, and splattered across the grass. His stomach heaved at the thought. His breathtakingly beautiful angel would be destroyed, and he would have to watch it happen. He knew her eyes would be on him, staring at him with such a look of horror and betrayal that he would surely have to run away, up to his room to cover his ears with his hands and pretend it wasn't happening. 

His father's voice drew him from his thoughts. "We're going about this one a bit differently. What she did was a double offense. Not only did she use magic, but she used it to aid a Mudblood criminal. She will be kept alive for three days, instead of one. We will gradually increase the torture each day, so that maximum punishment can be achieved." 

Draco cringed. This was going to be far worse than he thought. He didn't know if he would be able to stand it. Maybe he could fake an illness, convince his father that he was on death's door. But that idea seemed far-fetched, as his father could read him like a book. 

He slowly followed his father out onto the grounds of the estate, to where Hermione was hanging helplessly. She looked up when he approached, and her eyes lit up. "Draco!" she cried, struggling against her bonds. 

He looked away. He couldn't meet her eyes. His father looked surprised. "She calls you by your first name?" 

Draco nodded. "Better that than allow her to speak the Malfoy name," he said quietly, hoping it would satisfy his father. It seemed to work. 

"Let's begin," his father said, and several servants pulled out their wands. They all pointed them at Hermione, who's eyes were darting around furiously, wondering what they were going to do. Draco pretended to be watching, but instead focused his eyes on something else. 

"Crucio!" the servants shouted in unison. Hermione screamed out in agony, her body convulsing as a few drops of blood leaked from her mouth. They repeated the curse, many times. Each time Hermione sobbed, cried, and bled. A few times she called out to Draco, but he didn't respond. 

The same thing was repeated for hours, until the sun went down and the sky became black. At that point Draco's father signaled for them to put away their wands, and they all began to walk inside. "We'll continue tomorrow," his father said. 

Draco was one of the first to make it back to the mansion, eager to escape Hermione's gaze. He slammed his bedroom door shut and flung himself across his bed. He covered his face with his hands and tried to block it all out, the memory of Hermione's suffering, the sound of her crying out his name, and the blood running down her face and neck. He wanted to forget it. He scanned his mind for a charm that would erase his memory, but none could be remembered offhand. 

The night wore on and Draco's mind grew more disturbed. He thought of how cold Hermione must be, all alone out there, half-naked. He couldn't help but imagine what they would do to her the following day. What horrors lie ahead for her? 

Finally he threw on his cloak and walked down the stairs. He just had to check on her, to make sure she was even still alive. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he would be doing her a favor if he simply killed her and got it over with. He could easily enough make up a story to tell his father. He'd say he was so angry and upset with her that he couldn't contain himself. Regardless, he had to talk to her too. 

When he neared her, she lifted her head weakly. When she realized it was him, she narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing here?" 

"I wanted to talk," he answered, stepping up on the wooden platform and standing inches from her. 

"There's nothing to talk about. You watched them torturing me! I know you never cared for me, but I didn't think you hated me so badly!" 

"My father forced me to watch! I didn't want to!" he yelled. 

"You could've stopped them! You could've done something! You have power and influence!" 

"I have nothing!" he screamed, so fiercely that Hermione flinched. "I have nothing at all! I'm nothing without my father, and he bloody knows it!" 

Hermione's eyes were wet. "How can you say that? As far as I'm concerned, your father is a nobody! You're everything to me! I belong to you!" 

Draco lowered his eyes. "No, I'm the nobody. And if I'm your everything then I truly pity you." 

"I don't care if you're a nobody! I still love you, and I'll always be yours!" 

Draco chuckled weakly. "I guess you're nobody's girl then." 

Hermione allowed herself a tiny smile. "I guess I am." 

Draco leaned forward and kissed her. He couldn't hold himself back anymore. The kiss escalated and soon his hands were all over her, his mouth threatening to devour hers. A tiny moan of pain from her stopped him dead in his tracks. He remembered the beating she'd received earlier that day and stepped back suddenly. "I…" 

"You're sorry?" 

He nodded. "Not just for this. I'm sorry for everything. This is my fault. I shouldn't have let you use magic." 

"You didn't let me do anything. I acted on my own." 

He kissed her again, but this time he remembered to be gentle. His hands danced over her wounds delicately, soothing her aching body. "I can't stand this," he murmured into her ear, "I can't stand thinking that I'll never be able to touch you again." 

"Draco, do you love me?" Hermione whispered. 

He stopped and looked her in the eyes. He hadn't really thought about it. He knew that he loved her body, and he loved having sex with her. He knew that he didn't want her to die, and he didn't want her to suffer anymore. But was that because of love? She was a Mudblood, but was that so important to him? "I… think I might…" he said uneasily, "I don't know how it feels to love someone…" 

"Don't you love your mother?" 

Draco was quiet for a moment. "I suppose I do. I'd never thought of it before. The thought of her dying scares me to death. The thought of being without her… it almost makes me want to die myself." 

"And how do you feel about me dying?" 

Draco stared at her with wide eyes. "It scares me to death," he replied. He kissed her again. "I think I do… I think I love you." 

Tears leaked from Hermione's eyes. "That's enough… I don't care to die now. You've made me so happy!" 

Draco pulled away. "I've treated you like shit!" he said. 

"But I loved you anyway! And my life was so meaningless. I spent day after day in that horrible cage! That's why I'm so glad you bought me, you gave me a purpose!" 

Draco looked down. She was already using past tense. It sounded so terribly sad. He couldn't handle it anymore. Suddenly, without a word, he reached up and untied her arms. She looked at him in shock. "What are you doing?! You'll be killed!" 

He shook his head. "I won't. I'll make up an excuse, and my mother will defend me. You have to run away. There's a place you can go to, right? A place where you can hide out and be safe?" 

She nodded. "There is, but I don't know if I can make it there. I tried to use magic to free myself, but nothing happened. I think I've lost my ability." 

"You haven't. These bonds are designed to suppress magical ability. You're free now, so go!" he said, handing her his cloak. 

She stood motionless in front of him. "Come with me!" 

"I can't. Then I'd surely be killed." 

Hermione couldn't keep from crying. Draco had set her free, yet she already missed him. Why couldn't they be together? Why couldn't they be happy? She reached out and wrapped her arms around him. She hugged him tightly, her face nestled under his neck. 

Draco had never been hugged before. He'd never known affection outside of the bedroom. It felt so strange, to be held by someone so tenderly. He wasn't sure how to react, but he decided that resting his hands on her shoulders was a decent idea. 

She pulled away from him. "I'll still love you! Even after a hundred years!" 

He frowned. "You're acting like you'll never see me again. Do you seriously think I'll be executed for this?" 

"No, but I'll never be able to come out of hiding…" 

He put his hands on her face. "Someday, when I'm free of my father and I've made my own name for myself, I'll come for you. I'll find you, and take you to my own house, and everyone will think I simply have a new slave." 

Hermione hugged him again, then leaned up and kissed him. "Keep that promise, Draco! I'll be waiting for you!" 

Draco nodded, and Hermione wrapped his cloak around herself. She concentrated hard for a moment, and then she was gone. He didn't know what spell she had used to transport herself off the Malfoy estate, but he knew she was no longer there. She was free, and she was safe. That's all that mattered to him. He would no doubt be punished severely for he did, but with enough cunning and well-thought lies, he would avoid death. And then, when he took over the Malfoy name, he would find his angel, and they would be happy. 

Author's Notes: So there you have it! Then end! It's not a particularly happy ending, though not particularly sad. I wanted it that way. Now, before you all write to me and tell me it's too unresolved or needs more story, don't fret! I DO plan to write a sequel. In fact, I plan to create a special website just for these fics and create many stories that take place in this world. The first sequel has already been started (and will be posted here soon). It is called "Seldom Tread Paths" (look for it!!) and it tells what's become of Harry and the Weasley family in this very different world. Be warned that it will include slash (yaoi) and some incest. If you cannot tolerate those things, you probably shouldn't read it. The next sequel after it will take place five years down the road, and go back to Draco and Hermione. The next story will be a prequel, and basically explain how the world came to be this way in the first place. After that, there will probably be one more story, though I can't tell you anything about it without ruining some surprises! In the meantime, if you would like to write some stories that take place in this world, please contact me! I'd particularly like to see detailed lemons of the scenes I skimmed over in this story (and will probably skim over in the next one, since I'm really bad at writing lemons). If you write one, I'll post it on the site (when I make it, that is). I'd also love to see some fanart for this story, if anyone out there is good at art (unlike me). 

Anyway, I'm glad that most of you seemed to be enjoying my story. It really makes me happy. I appreciate all the reviews and e-mails! And if any of you want to do me a big favor, you'll go and join my forums at ^_^ 


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